


Forget about the Boy

by nancynotruth



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Because you can never have too many soulmates au's!, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Romantic Soulmates, Secret Relationship(s), So much angst, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Temporary Amnesia, True Love, True Love's Kiss, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch Has Too Many Names And I Used That To My Advantage, the mage is not a good person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22272811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nancynotruth/pseuds/nancynotruth
Summary: When Simon and Baz realize that they're soulmates, Simon couldn't be happier. But the Mage's threat to Baz still hangs over his head. They agree to cast forgetfulness curses on each other, so that their lives can continue as normal. Hopefully, after all of the wars are over, they'll find each other again.How will Simon cope with forgetting the person he loves most?
Relationships: Penelope Bunce/Agatha Wellbelove, Simon Snow/Agatha Wellbelove (past), Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 127
Kudos: 216





	1. Happy Birthday, Simon

**SIMON**

The Mage sweeps into the room just after Baz leaves for football practice. Unless one of them learned a new teleportation spell, they must have run into each other on the narrow staircase leading up to our room, just wide enough for one person to walk through comfortably (Baz and I found that out our first time going to our room, when we pushed and shoved each other so hard I had bruises for the next week). I hate to think of how that encounter went.

Baz is probably still sneering.

“Simon,” the Mage says in his most commanding tone. I snap to attention instantly, throwing down my laptop (onto my bed, of course. If I survive whatever this is, I don’t want to think about paying for another laptop).

“Sir. What’s happening? Is it the Humdrum?” My hand is at my hip already, just a twist away from summoning the Sword of the Mages.

“Nothing like that, Simon.” He closes the door behind him with a **_S_** _ **hutting the goddamn door**_. _“Waste of Magic,”_ Agatha would say, shaking her head. “Sit.” The Mage points at my bed, like a a master commanding a poorly behaved poodle. Of course, I sit. And close my laptop, just in case.

The Mage begins to pace up and down the room like a stalking jungle cat, and I have the bad feeling that I’m his prey.

“Sir? Have I done something wrong? If it’s about the fondue fountain in Miss Possibelf’s room, I can explain…”

“I know about Mr. Grimm-Pitch,” the Mage says abruptly. For a just a second, I’m thrilled that he finally believes me about Baz’s vampirism, and that he’s come to apologize and move me to a different room. I don’t care if I need to share with Rhys and Gareth, or even Dev and Niall. Hell, I’ll string up a hammock in the Wavering Wood if it meant I didn’t need to live with Baz anymore.

But then I see the granite expression on the Mage’s face, and my happiness turns to terror in a heartbeat.

“Sir, I…”

“Save the rationalizations, save the apologies,” he says impatiently. “Simon, you know that the World of Mages is a complicated place. We are on the brink of war with the Old Families, we are on the brink of war with the Humdrum. You are the banner under which we must march, the power tying our forces together. If you were seen with…the wrong person…we could lose everything.” He wheels around to face me, abruptly stopping his pacing. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” I say. But I don’t understand. I’m still becoming familiar with this political game of chess, in which our team is down to the Mage’s king, the other Magician’s pawns, and my castle. Brute force, no delicacy, vital importance. At least, that’s what I’ve gathered from Penny. None of my orphanages had a chess set.

“I trust you to make the right decision,” he says, staring deep into my eyes. Our eyes are nearly the same color of blue, but his hold a glint of manic steel that I’ve never been able to manage.

“Thank you, Sir.” I hope my relief doesn’t show too much in my voice. I hope he doesn’t judge me for how much I want to make him proud, especially when I’m desperately failing.

“And I trust you know that the killing of a vampire from the Old Families would finally end this cold war and start the real battle.”

“You would kill Baz? Because of me?” My magic begins to flash angrily around me, roiling around in waves that make even me a little nauseous. The Mage stands tall and frowns at me, even deeper than before. “Sir,” I add belatedly.

“And that,” he says, still holding dangerous eye contact, “is why I trust that you will make the right decision.” His gaze softens for just a moment. “When you get your mark, you’ll see that it was never meant to be. I’m helping you, Simon. You just don’t appreciate it yet. You will.”

He turns majestically on his heel, casts an overly dramatic **_Open Sesame_** on the door, and closes it behind him. With his hand.

I weave my fingers into my hair (it’s getting too long again. I’ll have it cut during Christmas break) and take deep breath after deep breath of the brimstone air. I’ve tried to avoid thinking about Baz, but even more I’ve tried to avoid thinking about my mark. It’s supposed to come in the very second I turn 18. I’ve never even known my birthday, much less the exact time I was born. I’m terrified it will appear in front of everyone, and I’m even more scared of what it will say.

What words my soulmate (It was hard enough to start believing in soulmates) will say to me when they know they love me. Maybe what they already did say to me when they knew they loved me.

And, of course, there’s always the chance of another chess piece (Baz would probably be a knight, they’re pretty unpredictable) sneaking through our ranks and striking me down. What if I never live to hear those words?

The air is getting thicker, my brain is self destructing. No amount of controlled breathing can stop me from going off now.

**THE MAGE**

I only did what was right.

The boy isn’t thinking straight, he’s unable to concentrate in classes, he shows up for training the same time as I do, which is fifteen minutes late. It’s unconscionable.

As I exit Mummer’s House, I hear a sonic blast from the top of the tower. I upset Simon into going off.

Lucy, you always used to help keep my temper in check. I had hoped that Simon could do the same, but he can’t even keep himself in check for more than two minutes at a time. He can’t control his feelings any more than he can control his magic.

Just like you, Lucy. Your magic was tied up in your emotions, and you were always so sentimental. You gave Simon a name and a nickname before he even left your womb. What was it that you used to call him? Your rosary boy? Your rosehip boy?

Our rosebud boy. Now grown into a blighted rose.

Why couldn’t he stay as he was eleven years ago? Hanging on my every word, amazed when I unfurled a map with a grade 1 spell. That boy never would have endangered the World of Mages.

I should have given him my quarters the first time he ever asked to change rooms.

**BAZ**

Football practice was particularly dirty today. If not for the super healing inherent to vampirism, I’d probably have twisted both ankles. As it is, I’m covered in muck from being tripped three different times and I’m soaking from sweat and rain combined. Even though I avoid showering when Snow’s in our rooms, I have no alternative today. If my mother were still headmistress, I’m sure she would install locker rooms for me.

If my mother were still headmistress, and Snow were gay, and I wasn’t a vampire, and if bloody everything went my way, I could just shower with him.

As soon as I walk into the room, I know that Snow’s gone off. He’s asleep now, which is the only reason I allow myself to look at him. He’s laying back on the bed, breathing hard, hands knotted up in his too short hair. The air burns of brimstone, aftershocks of energy bounce around the room.

I want to hug him and tell him everything will be alright. I want my corpse-cold body to balance out his overheated skin.

Even though he can’t possibly see me, I sneer at him. Just out of principal. Then I walk into the bathroom, pull the door closed, and shuck off nearly all of my clothes, except for my wristband. I crank the water to its hottest setting and step into the shower. I pretend that the heat from the shower is Snow.

Around my left wrist wraps a thick leather band that I never remove. The buckle is just the right size and shape to smash down on a rat’s skull, killing it instantly. If I were a rat, I’d rather be killed by a macho bracelet than slowly drained in agony. More importantly, those little bastards can bite even as their blood is being sucked out of their body. That’s the reason I picked this particular wrist covering, but not the reason I needed to get one.

Under the band, my soulmate scrawl wraps around my arm in ridiculously messy and painfully familiar writing. _I think someone is about to say them now, yeah?_

I’ve tried not to think about what they mean, too much. Would Snow cast forbidden words on me just after he realized he loved me? Would he be so disgusted by his feelings for me that the only way out was to eradicate me once and for all? Or are we on a date, watching a semi-illegal Mage duel, betting on which Magical words would be used next?

As if. Simon Snow would never go on a date with me.

So I try not to think about my soulmark, and I try not to wonder when Snow will get his. What Wellbelove’s perfect writing will say. Even if she doesn’t have a soulmate of her own, I’m sure she’ll be fine with him being hers. They can get a surrogate to carry their perfect, asexually reproduced children and Snow will never have to know all of the very sexual things I want to do to him.

And my soulmark will remain hidden under a thick leather band and a thin coat of rat blood.

Forever.

When the water starts to run cold, and I’ve been clean for about fifteen minutes, I turn off the water. Towel off. Get dressed in the clean clothes I brought into the bathroom (dressing in front of even an unconscious Simon Snow would be exquisite torture, but torture nonetheless).

Sure enough, Snow’s still passed out, still burning hot from five feet away. Against my better judgement, I open the window. Hopefully he’ll think that it was Bunce (I know she can get into our room. It irks me that I don’t know how).

Maybe, on the way back from the catacombs, I’ll ask Cook Prichard for some leftover scones. Maybe I’ll anonymously give them to Snow. Maybe I’ll eat them in front of him.

**SIMON**

When I wake up, It’s dark outside. The windows are open and I’m less hot than usual. Maybe my magic has reached the point that it just does things without me even thinking about them, possibly Penny came up and opened them for me. Or…I don’t want to hope, but maybe Baz doesn’t actually hate me as much as he says.

I just lie on my bed for a while, not thinking, not sleeping, playing with my hair a little bit. Maybe I could try a different hairstyle. Agatha doesn’t like this one. _"_ _It makes you look like you’re in a boy band,"_ she said last spring, picking up one of my curls between her fingertips like it was infected. _"Why don’t you get something normal?"_ At least I think she said normal, not Normal. 

When my wrist starts burning, I think I’m just going off again. I didn’t know that Agatha’s stance on my hairstyle bothered me so much. But when my magic remains (relatively) stable, and the air around me doesn’t heat up, I finally realize what’s going on.

Oh, god.

I can barely bring myself to look at my soulmark, but the only alternative is to ask someone else to look for me, and then they would know too. So slowly, very slowly, I turn on my bedside lamp (with the cord, I’m way to jittery to try a _**Let there be light**_ ). Even slower, I raise my wrist up to my eyes.

This is it. The defining moment of my life.

I know I’m more than who I love, but my soulmate is almost a part of me. And I owe them the respect of looking at their handwriting, and the words that are their first I love you.

So I bite my lip, brace myself, and read. Then, despite literally everything, I can’t help but smile wider than I ever have before.

Perfect, neat script curls around my left wrist.

_Fuck off, Snow._

Happy birthday to me!


	2. A Very Important Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After 7 years of living together, and spending almost as long in love with each other, Simon and Baz finally discuss their soulmarks.

**BAZ**

I don’t smell any brimstone as I approach our room, which is a good sign. It means that Snow’s finally calmed down, or he’s still asleep, or he’s just not in the room right now, and any of these options would make my night. 

Maybe that’s why I let my guard down, just a little bit. It’s exhausting to keep up the charade of not being a vampire, and it’s even more tiring to pretend I hate the love of my life. I’ve just had a good hour of indulging my vampirism, why shouldn’t I give myself a little break on the hapless lover front? 

I open the door quietly, instead of banging it into the wall as I usually would. I hate myself for taking Snow’s comfort into account, for wanting to keep him asleep. For being weak. 

My effort is wasted. Snow’s sitting up on his bed, light on. His face is set in the joyful expression I usually associate with him finally understanding a level 2 spell that I mastered in first year. This is the first time his epiphany expression has ever been turned on me, and I must admit that the effect is devastating. I almost stumble, I almost smile. 

Instead, I raise an eyebrow in my coldest manner. I wonder if he can tell I’m putting in on more than usual. 

“Finally understand **_This little light of mine_** , Snow? It’s just a spiritual. Nothing too sophisticated.” This isn’t good, his stupid facial expression has thrown me way off my game. Even he must know that spell isn’t especially effective outside the USA’s deep south. 

He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t set his jaw or furrow his eyebrows, he doesn’t start to radiate heat (at least, no more heat than usual). Instead, he stands up and walks towards me. 

I sneer at him as best I can, but I’m honestly afraid. Maybe he has a match up his sleeve. 

“Baz,” Snow says, stopping less than a foot away from me, further into my physical space than he’s ever been outside of a fight. I’m tempted to throw a punch and run away, but Snow’s presence is too enticing. Even if he does plan to light me on fire, it would be worth it to be this close to Simon Snow for the rest of my life. 

“Yes, Snow?” I ask, raising my eyebrow even higher. 

“Baz,” he starts again, tugging on his hair. I want to put my hands in those curls and never take them out. “What does your soulmark say?” 

I’m honestly speechless. 

**Simon**

When Baz opens the door, I’m ready. Now that I know that we’re soulmates, I’ve finally allowed myself to think about how much I want to kiss him. How I want to see him with his hair all messed up, and how I want to be the one who made it like that. I wonder if he’ll get warm after I hold him for hours straight. 

It could be because I just found out we’re in love, but I think that Baz almost smiles at me. Of course he sneers afterwards, but it’s progress, right? He says something about me not being able to use magic, something that would normally make me angry, but I’m watching his lips and they look really, really soft. 

Almost without thinking about it, I stand up and walk towards him. At least I have the sense not to kiss him right away. 

“Baz,” I ask, and he glares at me with one of the angrier expressions I’ve ever seen on his (fucking handsome) face. He raises his eyebrow even higher (I’ve tried to do that in the mirror for hours, while I’m at Forster care. Not much else to do). 

“Yes, Snow?” He says, like nothing I ever say could be important. If I didn’t know about this whole soulmates thing, I’d think he really hated me. Does he really hate me? I tug on my hair to keep me grounded. 

“Baz,” I say again, just to remind myself who I’m talking to. “What does your soulmark say?” 

His eyes widen, and he steps back just a little half step. It’s good to know he can be rattled. That _I_ can rattle him. 

  
“Snow, you must know that’s a personal question. Were you raised by Normals? Oh, wait…” 

I roll my eyes at him. Fondly, I think. 

“Come on, Baz. We’re roommates, shouldn’t we know important things about each other?” 

“I know that you’re a massive twat, I don’t think you have any other important qualities.” 

“Then I suppose you won’t be interested when I tell you that I just got my soulmark,” I say, pulling my sleeve even further over my left wrist. My whole plan (yes, I have a plan) won’t work if he sees. 

**BAZ**

Snow has his soulmark? 

It’s probably something like _“oh my darling Simon, I truly love you despite the fact I don’t have a soulmark of my own. Shall we engage in closed mouth kissing?”_

But still…

Just maybe…

**SIMON**

Something flashes behind Baz’s eyes for just a second (nothing ever flashes _in front_ of his eyes, that would be far too obvious for him), but then it’s gone. 

“I don’t _care,_ Snow,” he says, disgust dripping from his voice like cheese from my accidental fondue fountain in Miss Possibelf’s classroom. 

“I think you do.” 

“I _know_ I _don’t._ ” He backs up without meaning to. I advance a step. 

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” I say. 

“And then we’ll play nurse,” he counters. He’s always been much quicker than me, but I have brute force on my side. 

“Just tell me if someone’s said your words yet.” _Tell me if_ I’ve _said your words._

“Alister Crowley,” He says, throwing up his hands. I’ve backed him into the door, to open it he’d have to walk towards me. He knows he’s trapped. “Fuck _off,_ Snow.” 

Merlin and Morgana, he actually said it. I’m sure he’s said it before, in fact I remember him saying it before, but this is different. 

**BAZ**

Snow looks decidedly like someone who hasn’t been told to fuck off. He’s grinning like a maniac. I wonder if he’s gone insane. 

Of course, I went insane long ago. 

I think I need to get out of here. If I want to keep any of my dignity, and (more importantly) the walls I’ve built up for protection expressly against Snow, I need to leave. 

“All you need to know, Snow,” I say as I feel around for the doorknob in a desperately obvious gesture, “Is that nobody has ever said my soul words. And nobody ever will.” Nobody could ever fall in love with me. Especially not Simon Snow. But he’s smiling like a maniac, and he keeps getting closer to me. The warmth emanates from his body, and it’s so enticing. I just want to wrap myself up in his arms and never leave. 

Snow rolls up his left sleeve, showing me his faintly glowing soul words. A sure sign that he and his soulmate are in close proximity. I’m running out of ways to deny this. As a distraction from his closeness, and his lips, and literally everything about him, I read his words. 

_Fuck off, Snow._

“I think someone is about to say them now, yeah?” Snow asks, stepping still closer. 

And I’m finally done pretending. 

**SIMON**

Baz rips off his wristband. Literally rips it off, the thick leather band tearing under his fingers. That can’t be a normal amount of strength. His pupils are ridiculously dilated, his lips are more pink than grey for the first time I’ve ever seen. I spare a glance down at his wrist, and despite the immediate threat of my soulmate sucking out all of my blood, I can’t keep from smiling still wider. 

_I think someone is about to say them now, yeah?_

I always knew, on some level, that I loved him. But now there’s conclusive proof, I _love_ him. This is the best day of my life, bar none. I hope Penny understands. 

When I look up again, he’s just an inch away. His expression is positively predatory, but I’m not afraid. I’ve never really been afraid of him. And when he finally, finally kisses me, I melt into him like butter into a piping hot scone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your wonderful comments!! Really made my day. I have almost all of this fic planned out, so I hope to update every few days or so. But still, comments and kudos (especially comments) will motivate me far more than my mentality.


	3. Blank Slate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’ll be okay, Baz. We just have to pretend like we still hate each other, and he won’t ever know.”
> 
> “No, Si…Snow. It won’t.” His hand stops moving in my hair. His muscles get all tight under my head, and I want to take back everything I said. “The Mage knew about your…feelings for me—” he thinks I can’t hear him smiling. “—Before I did. And I watch you every second I can get away with.” I knew I wasn’t imagining him watching me. I knew it.
> 
> “What else can we do, Baz? We’re soulmates. We can’t just forget about it.”
> 
> “Snow, you’re a genius.” He lets go of my hand, tilts my chin upwards, and kisses me quickly. His lips are so warm. “We need to forget about it.”

**SIMON** ****

I’m laying on Baz’s bed for the first time ever. Penny’s done it before (she’s fearless) but I’ve never been able to cross that line. It seemed like something that might upset him so much it would actually trigger the roommate’s anathema and banish one or both of us for good. Or something that might make _me_ so insane with want that I’d do something we’d both regret. I guess that isn’t an issue anymore, huh?

Baz is here, too. Right next to me. Holding my hand. I took off my cross a long time ago and I’m not sure where it is now. Maybe with my shirt? With the cross off, nothing is stopping Baz from pressing his head up to mine. _I’m_ certainly not stopping him. His right arm is behind my neck, holding me close, and our left hands are locked together (he definitely has vampire strength. Is it weird that it kinda turns me on?). I don’t know about him, but I’m looking down at the softly glowing golden marks on our wrists, the sign of soulmates who have finally found each other. 

We did kiss, a _lot,_ and it was really, really great. But this almost feels better. 

I wish so, so much that I could be happy. 

**BAZ**

“The Mage is going to kill you,” Simon says (ha), breaking the sleepy silence that has descended over the room. 

“Really, Snow? I thought the Mage was going to make _you_ kill me.” I do my best to imitate the tone I usually use with him, but my words come out about as sharp as a butter knife. I don’t know if I hate or love him for doing this to me. I squeeze his hand tighter, but not tight enough to break anything. He squeezes back. 

“ _Baz._ I’m serious.” I love the way he says my name. 

“So am I.” 

“The Mage came into my room this morning—“

“Yesterday morning. It’s 2 AM.” 

“Shut up, Baz, this is important.” But he snuggles closer to me, and I feel a wall of ice shatter around my heart. 

“All right, Snow, continue. The Mage came into our room yesterday morning and…?” 

“He said he knew about you.” Simon’s—Snow’s—voice is small, and he’s speaking into my shoulder as though he can’t bare to look at my face. I wait for him to continue talking, but he just sighs. I run my fingers through his curls, and I hope it calms him down. It certainly works for me. 

“That I’m a vampire?” I prompt him. His head whips up, almost hitting me on the chin, and that crazy grin is back on his face. 

  
“So you _are_ a vampire!” He shouts. I put my hand over his mouth to shut him up. I want to use my own mouth instead, but I don’t want to do something over the line (I guess, deep down, I’m actually a nice monster). He isn’t that expressionless girl from Twilight, I doubt he has the immediate desire to make out with a newly confirmed vampire. 

“You’ve known that since fifth year, idiot.” 

“But you just said it! I was right all along!” He says far too happily, his voice muffled against my hand. Then, maybe seeing the (hopefully slight) look of panic in my eyes, his face looses a bit of its brightness. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” He kisses my palm and pulls away, staring into my eyes. It’s far too vulnerable a position for me. I look away. 

“I wasn’t worried.” I was so fucking worried. “So what does the Mage know? Carry on, Simon.” 

“You called me Simon,” he says, with an adorable little smirk. Fuck. 

“I didn’t.” 

  
“You did.” I don’t argue with him, he might need a little victory to finally be able to tell me what the Mage knows. I have the sick feeling that neither of us wants this to come out (insert gay joke here). He tucks his head under back under my chin and takes a deep breath. “Okay, so the Mage knows that you…that I….”

“Spit it out, Snow.” _There’s_ the edge I was trying for. “This isn’t a spell.” 

“That I love you, okay?” He almost shouts. “He knows I love you, and he says that if we get together he’ll kill you to start the war with the old families. That’s what he knows.” 

**SIMON**

Baz doesn’t say anything. He just keeps stroking his beautiful, violin calloused fingers through my hair. 

“Did you hear me?” I ask, my voice tiny and almost swallowed up in his collar. 

“Shut up, Snow,” he snaps. “I’m thinking.” But he keeps gently combing my hair so I know he’s not really mad. _I’m not mad at you,_ Penny always says after she yells at me during one of our “adventures” _I’m mad at the situation._ The situation, in this case, being that my mentor/guardian wants to kill my arch-nemesis/soulmate. I can see how Baz could be a little angry. 

“It’ll be okay, Baz. We just have to pretend like we still hate each other, and he won’t ever know.”

“No, Si…Snow. It won’t.” His hand stops moving in my hair. His muscles get all tight under my head, and I want to take back everything I said. “The Mage knew about your…feelings for me—” he thinks I can’t hear him smiling. “—Before I did. And I watch you every second I can get away with.” I knew I wasn’t imagining him watching me. I _knew_ it. 

“What else can we do, Baz? We’re soulmates. We can’t just forget about it.” 

“Snow, you’re a genius.” He lets go of my hand, tilts my chin upwards, and kisses me quickly. His lips are so warm. “We need to forget about it.” 

**BAZ**

“ ** _Blank slate_** ,” I cast. “ ** _Out, out damned spot_**.” I pretend that my hand isn’t shaking, as Simon’s soul mark ( _my_ words. The instant I knew I loved my sworn enemy. The moment I realized I was in for a lifetime of agony) slowly disappears from his wrist. 

“Are you sure you need to do this?” He asks desperately, clutching his wrist as the golden letters fade. He’s crying. So am I. 

“When you wake up in the morning, it’ll be like it was never here,” I say in my steadiest voice. 

“I don’t need to be the Mage’s heir anymore. I can leave Watford. _We_ can leave Watford, and none of this would ever have to happen. We could be together.” 

“Simon.” I want to say his name over and over again, while I still can. He gives me a trembly, teary smile. “If we started the war, no one would ever forgive us. My family would disown me permanently, and so would your Mage. The Humdrum would keep taking our magic, and we’d be too busy killing each other to kill _it._ ” Much as I hate to admit it, I’m a little desperate too. 

“Everything doesn’t rest on our shoulders, Baz.” 

“You’re the Chosen One. I’m the last Pitch. Of course it does.” My hand is full on shaking as I point it again. “ ** _There’s nothing to see here_**.” The last vestige of gold lettering is obscured by my spells (not gone. Nobody can remove a soulmark). Snow looks at it like he just lost the love of his life. Which, in a way, he did. I set my jaw and point my wand at my own wrist. “ ** _Paint it black_** ,” I cast. The gold begins to fade. Snow starts full-out weeping. 

“What if we can never figure this out again?” He asks. “What if you date a random bloke? What if me and Agatha give into the pressure to get married?” I don’t correct his grammar. He needs to be in love with me for now, and I need it too. “This could be the last time we’re ever together.” 

“Snow. We share a _room._ ” He looks up at me, tearstained and glaring and beautiful. “Besides, I’ve been in love with you since I was fifteen. I hardly think that would change.” 

**SIMON**

“ ** _Pitch black_** ,” Baz casts, and I remember how proud he was when we discussed that saying in Magical Words, when we all learned that only a Pitch can use that spell. And how much he rubbed it in my face afterwards. _“Even if you_ could _cast a complicated spell like that, you wouldn’t be allowed.”_ He was only twelve, his heckling game wasn’t very good. _“What would you dye, your hair?”_ I retorted. _“Fat lot of good that would do you.”_

Now that he’s actually using it, the gold fading from my messy scrawl, I’m not laughing. 

I look down at my own left wrist, completely covered over by Baz’s impeccable spell work. I miss my words already. I can’t believe Baz said them when we were only fifteen. Crowley, it must have been horrible. I never left him alone that year, and I think fifteen is around the time that a vampire’s fangs come in. Besides, being a teenager is always pretty bad, vampire or no. I barely got a wink of sleep when I was fifteen, I spent all of my time following Baz around the catacombs or risking my life on missions for the Mage. 

I squeeze my wrist again, hoping I can feel the outline of the letters underneath Baz’s perfect spell work. Just for something to do, to distract from Baz continuing to erase the gold from my words, I try to remember the first time Baz said my soul words. When I was fifteen. One memory in particular floats to the top of my head, and I try to think of every detail. This might well be the last time I realize its significance. The moment Baz fell in love with me (me!). 

_I was fifteen years old, it was maybe four in the morning. I’d been following him around the Catacombs all night (I’ve always been so obsessed with Baz), and I was absolutely exhausted. I was dragging myself towards the entrance, winding my string back into a tight ball, ready to collapse and get a couple hours of sleep before my Magical History test, when he just materialized out of the blackness in front of me. He was leaning against the wall, just as tired as I was. It was the first time we’d met in the Catacombs in months._

_“What are you doing here, Baz?” I asked, blade drawn, ready to chop off his head if he came too close. My arms shook with the effort of keeping the blade aloft, but I was still scared that if I let it drop it would leave me forever._

_“Planning an entertaining scavenger hunt for the Chosen One,” He replied with an elaborate (and totally ironic) bow. “Or am I plotting how to bring down the Mage’s regime? Maybe I’m just trying to get away from my idiotic roommate for five seconds. What is the answer that would make you leave me alone?” He swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. I thought it was out of exhaustion._

_“Seriously, Baz.” I took a step forward, into his personal space. Just like earlier today (late yesterday). “What. Are. You. Doing.” I held up my sword and stepped forward again. Something like terror flashed across his face (It was the first time I’d ever seen him scared._ I _was scared of him being scared of me). Then it was replaced with the most manic rage I’ve ever seen, from him or anyone else. He grabbed my shoulders and spun me around so_ I _was the one pinned against the wall. His grip was so tight my biceps were bruised for weeks._

_“Fuck off, Snow,” He yelled in my face, spit and possibly blood spraying my face. “Fuck off_ now _.”_

_My left wrist began to burn, and I almost dropped my sword. I twisted away from him and ran away as fast as I could. I was so certain he was about to bite me. I left my string behind, and when I looked back over my shoulder to see if he’d turned into a bat to follow me, I saw him slumped on the floor, head in his hands. Just a broken boy, in love with his worst enemy._

_Just like me._

“What if I never figure it out again? That I love you?” I whisper. 

“I’ll make you love me,” Baz says, that raging, manic glint shining beneath his tears. “I’ll force you. I swear.”

For the first time, I realize that his _I’m going to kill you and suck your blood_ look is actually his _I love you._

**BAZ**

I’d always thought that I’d feel powerful, staring down my wand at Snow, knowing one or both of us was about to have our entire life ruined. Like that moment was where my entire life was leading, and everything between us would finally be over. 

Instead, I feel like I did when my mother died. Helpless. Terrified. Grief without end. 

Tears are streaming down Snow’s face like rain (he loves me. He really loves me). I limit myself to one or two rolling down my cheek, but he knows I’m just as upset as he is (he has no idea how much I love him). I’ve never felt more like a monster. 

“We’re doing the right thing,” I say. “We are.” We both know I’m trying to convince myself as much as him. 

“Okay,” he says. “Okay.” Then, “Can I please kiss you?” 

“Of course, Snow. Simon.” 

Our mouths clash together, and I don’t think we know how to be near each other without fighting in one way or another. 

We may never learn. 

His mouth is salty and slimy and addictive. Under my fingers, his pulse is beating in rhythm with my dead heart. I never want to let him go, and from how tightly he’s holding me I’m sure he feels the same. 

“On the count of three,” I whisper when we finally pull away from each other, after what feels like hours. I’m letting myself be soft before I forget how. Before all of my walls against him rebuild themselves in an instant.

“Okay,” he whispers back, voice chocked with tears. “I love you, Baz.” 

“I love you too, Simon.” 

We smile at each other, brittle grins of resignation. I want to hold him until the end of the world, I never want to forget that this happened. But every spell has a counter, and I know that someday we’ll be together again. 

“One,” I say, knowing that I’m signing my own death warrant. 

“Two,” he responds, looking at me like I’m the most beautiful thing in the world. 

“Three,” we say together. The last thing we’ll ever agree upon. 

“ ** _Forgive and forget_** _,_ ” Simon casts. 

“ ** _Forget about the boy_** ,” I cast at the same time. It’ll erase his memories of me from the time he first had feelings for me, which by my estimation should be about a week. 

A week of Simon Snow’s life at Watford of which I had no part. That shouldn’t depress me as much as it does. I shouldn’t have the need to be his everything. 

Snow slumps to the ground like a puppet with his strings cut. I sprint across the room to catch him in my arms, and lay him down gently on his bed, reveling in the feel of his skin peacefully against mine for what might be the last time. 

I go down to the catacombs to grieve, maybe to sleep. 

Oh, Simon. Even if you weren’t such a complete magickal disaster, I can never forgive the Mage for threatening to kill your soulmate (for wanting to kill me). I can never forgive myself for having this idea, or you for going along with it. For not fighting me, for the first time ever. For not fighting _for_ me. 

Simon Snow, I can never forgive you for loving me. 

**Penny**

Simon comes down to breakfast at a reasonable hour today, which is a lovely surprise. He usually manages to demolish five times his share of sour cherry scones (and ten cows worth of butter) by the time I’ve brushed my hair. 

“Morning, Penny,” He says, heaping his plate with scones. Some things never change. “Morning, Ags.” 

“Good morning, Simon,” Agatha says cooly. Things have been a bit weird about them since her eighteenth, when they _finally_ realized that they’re not even close to being right for each other. I’m glad she still sits with us, Simon and I only have so many friends. 

“How’d you guys sleep?” He asks, mouth stuffed with pastries, spraying crumbs. I roll my eyes. 

“Fine,” Agatha says shortly, looking across the room, probably to see if Baz has arrived yet. Even without a soulmark, she still has a major platonic-ish crush on him. 

  
“Trixie and her girlfriend stayed up all night making out,” I say, ignoring her hopeless pining. “How do you _think_ I slept?” 

“My alarm clock didn’t go off,” Simon says, reaching for the butter, totally ignoring my dilemma. As usual. “I wish I hadn’t slept so late, I wanted to do my homework at breakfast.” _What??_

“You were actually going to do your homework?” Agatha asks, actually looking at him for the first time in almost a month, shocked enough for the both of us. 

“I was going to do it earlier, but then I must have misplaced it somewhere.” He grabs another scone, and Agatha and I shoot each other expressions of complete disbelief. 

“I’m surprised you haven’t accused Baz of plotting to make you fail your class,” I say, only teasing a little bit. Baz’s alleged plotting is usually the first thought in Simon’s head, and I’m a bit surprised that he’s been down here for over three minutes without completely using up his Baz quota. It’s like I’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone. 

Simon looks up at me, brows knotted together, head tipped quizzically to the side, scone halfway to his mouth and dripping butter all down his arm, and he’s still just the little boy I took under my wing during his first week at Watford. He opens his mouth, and I think he’s going to do something disgusting like like all the butter off his arm, but instead he asks me the only question that, in all my years, I’ve ever been unable to answer. 

“Who’s Baz?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so much fun to write, but I'm sure it was an absolutely agonizing read. Again, thank you for all of your comments/kudos! I promise I'll respond to all of the comments when I have time. Thanks so much for giving me motivation and please, please, keep it coming!! :) <3
> 
> Next chapter will be out soon (ish), school's starting up again but I promise I'll find time to keep writing.


	4. Out of My Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon's been weirdly unobservant recently, even by his standards. Penny and Agatha are obsessed with this evil bloke who is also (apparently) a vampire, and who Simon has never heard of before. And there's this cute guy he's somehow never noticed before who keeps staring at him.

**Baz**

The only thing worse than watching Snow blunder around behind me is watching Snow blunder around on his own. Apparently, he followed me to all of our shared classes so regularly that he doesn’t know where three quarters of of his classrooms are. 

Let me emphasize that: Snow is such a moron that he _never learned where his fucking classrooms are._ I wish I’d just led him off a precipice in third year or something, he wouldn’t have noticed we weren’t going to Magickal History until he was free falling unto a gully. _That_ would have saved a lot of time and energy.

I spent a lot of that time and energy trying to wrap my head around the fact that Snow’s been in love with me—to some extent—ever since we met. The first time I passed him in the hallway with my customary growl of _“Snow”_ and was met with a blank stare, I brushed it off as his latest disengagement tactic. I’ve recently developed a suspicion that he doesn’t like fighting any more than I do. But when I heard him ask Bunce who I was, I realized that he’s not that good of an actor. And I’m ashamed to say that I panicked. 

That eventing, I tried to talk to him when he was alone in front of Mummer’s house, trying to figure out which room was his (I’m guessing he associated it too strongly with being close to me to remember it well. Or he’s just a moron). He tilted his head just like he did the first time he met me, eyes open and trusting. It broke my heart. 

_“Why did you call me Snow earlier today? Nobody does that.” I do, Snow. I do._

_“Would you prefer Chosen One?”_

_“No. I would prefer my name.”_

_“Snow is your name. Unless I’m severely mistaken.” He huffed and ran his fingers through his hair. The same hair I ran my fingers through just a few days ago. He loved it, kept leaning into my hand like a puppy dog getting its ears rubbed._

_“Fine. Whatever. Call me Snow if you want. What’s your name?”_

_“Tyrannus Basilton Grimm—” I stopped myself just before saying my final name, realizing too late that Bunce and Wellbelove probably went through every mutation of my name in at attempt to jog his memory. Fuck._

_“Well then, Ty Grimm, I’m Snow. Nice to meet you.”_

_I snorted inelegantly._

_  
“What?” He huffed. “It’s your name.”_

_“It’s just that nobody’s ever used quite that combination to refer to me before.”_

_“Well someone’s gonna say them now, yeah?”_

_And even though they weren’t exactly my soul words, I felt all of my breath leave my body and my left wrist started to burn white hot._

_I backed away from him, glaring disdainfully, but that was as much hatred as I could muster. We’re bonded soulmates, and I think there’s some kind of law against us actually killing each other._

_  
“What’s wrong, Ty?” He asked, scrunching his eyebrows up adorably, taking a step towards me._

_“Fuck off, Snow,” I spat before I realized what I was saying. His eyes went wide, and his hand flew to his invisible soul mark._

_And, before he could stop me, I ran._

_  
_I haven’t talked to Snow since that day. I try to stare at him less than usual, but he’s like a flame drawing me in. Even worse, his eyes seem to have a different schedule than normal, always looking up when I think he’ll be looking down, and he keeps catching me in the act. Staring back at me with a look of blank confusion that hurts me far worse than his most fearsome smile.

I’ve been sleeping in the Catacombs for the last week. Sometimes I next to my Mother’s grave, sometimes I make my bed beneath the skulls of Leś Enfants. Other times, when I’m in an especial funk, I shake it up and walk the passageways until I’m completely exhausted, then bed down wherever I am at the time. When I’m weakest, I make my way to the tunnels just beneath Mummer’s House and imagine Snow sleeping above me. 

I can always trust my night vision and my internal compass to steer me back to Great Hall in time for breakfast (and to stare at Snow inhaling his scones, and remember having those lips on me). Snow had to unravel a ball of string behind him just to find his way in the main drag, and I’m far beyond that now. Once, I found snow’s cursed ball of string (did he really think that hiding it under his bed would work?) And I contemplated snipping a few choice threads, making it fall apart as it unraveled, so that Snow could never find the entrance again. 

I couldn’t do it. 

I was so weak. I _am_ always so weak. So I sleep beneath our shared bedroom, and I watch him eat, and I follow him to classes. I keep to the shadows as much as possible, try not to interact with Bunce and Wellbelove, and I probably should have gone back to my Father’s house as soon as I cast the spell. 

Just before I go to sleep, my last thought is always Snow’s face.

In my dreams, we kiss and cuddle and he always, always knows who I am. 

**SIMON**

Agatha and Penny have been acting really weird recently. They keep mentioning this guy with an incredibly long and posh name, that they often shorten to a shorter and almost posher name. I’ve stopped listening. But the gist of their never-ending talks about this guy is that they seem to think I know him (apparently he’s my worst enemy, but he’s also my roommate? And he’s a Mage but also a vampire??). I swear on the Sword of the Mages that I’ve never heard of him before. 

Oh, well. If I can’t remember him, he must not be as important as Penny and Agatha think. I have bigger problems than not remembering some guy right now. Like the classrooms have completely changed their locations, and Penny keeps sleeping in my room to _“protect you from Baz, Simon. He must have used some seriously illegal magic on you!”_ but I think it’s just an excuse to get away from her manic pixie dreamgirl. And how every time I try to talk to Agatha or Penny, all they talk about is this Baz person. They keep saying how obsessed I supposedly am with him, but I think they’ve got to get a fucking mirror. 

Plus, this gorgeous bloke with magnificent hair keeps staring at me. He’s in a lot of my classes, and even though we’ve only talked once, I really like him. It’s so cute how he calls me Snow.

“Simon,” the Mage says. “ _Concentrate!_ ” I duck out of the way just as the Chimera’s jaws close where I was a second ago.

  
“Sorry, Sir!” I yell. The chimera seems to be just as incorporeal in my head as it is in person. I just can’t seem to remember what I’m fighting. 

Still, I block and parry and send whatever spells I can think of its way. It’s pretty pathetic, honestly. It’s in bad form (probably weakened by whatever spells the Mage used to bring it here) and I’m in worse. 

“Enough,” the Mage finally says, freezing the Chimera in its tracks with a nonverbal spell. “Simon, what has gotten into you? I had better not be that Pitch brat.”

  
“It’s not,” I say, even though I have absolutely no idea what a Pitch brat is. Maybe some kind of potion? A person?

“Good. I don’t want to do something we’ll both regret. It’s best that you just forget all about Basilton Grimm-Pitch.” 

  
Basilton? I think that might be the person that Penny and Agatha keep talking about. Baz.

“Don’t worry, sir. I’ve forgotten all about him.” 

The Mage nods his head, and unfreezes the Chimera with a wave of his hand. I raise my sword. As I dodge the fire from the Chimera’s mouth, I wonder if this Baz person is related to the bloke I met outside of Mummer’s house the other day, Ty. His middle name was similar to Basilton, I think, and maybe one of the same last names. It’s hard to keep it all in my head. Maybe I’m getting some form of magical dementia. 

But as I think more about Ty, I can see the Chimera more easily. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for waiting. TONS of schoolwork!!!! I know this chapter is short, but there's a more coming soon. Please leave kudos and comments if you want, cause it's the only thing keeping me going.


	5. Taffy Stuck and Tongue Tied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon's falling apart. Penny is suspicious. Baz is watching Simon unravel by his hand, and it's not nearly as fun as he thought it would be.

**BAZ**

He enters the classroom, disheveled and breathing hard. He had to run after me the entire way, I made sure of that. But I also walked just slow enough to stay within his line of vision, so he wouldn’t be late to class for the fifth time in a row. Crowley, I loathe myself. 

He’s passing right by his normal seat. The one in the corner of the room that he’s been using for the past two weeks. Not the one right behind me, where he could breathe down my neck and scan my notes to see what I was plotting at any given time. Sometimes, I wrote his name on scrap paper, just to give him a little victory. At night, I’d add my name and draw a heart. Then I’d set the whole thing on fire and watch it burn. 

He’s passed by his seat, and he’s still walking towards me. 

  
He’s passed by his old seat, too. 

I’m staring straight ahead, of course, pretending for all I’m worth that I’m using my peripheral vision to its greatest (and much enhanced) extent. But I can’t not look at him, and I can’t keep my undead heart from beating five times faster than normal. 

Ignoring every other very available seat (I like to arrive early, it gives me a bit of time to do my homework. Despite my affinity for fire, it’s a real pain to get a consistent light in the catacombs), the tosser swings into the desk right next to me, loose papers trailing from his disaster of a messenger bag. 

“Hey!” He says, training his raging forest fire of a smile directly on me. I’ve developed a tenuous immunity to knowing I’ll never get that smile again. But I never thought about the alternative, and it’s burning me alive. 

“Snow,” I snap. His smile dims just a bit, and his eyes go all confused. 

Alistair Crowley, it’s hard to continue a nearly decade old rivalry if my rival doesn’t remember that we’re at war. 

Or we will be, if the Mage ever figures out what happened. Or if Simon does. 

I wonder if he’d kill me, now. If he knew what I know. I wonder if he was ever going to kill me. 

“What’s up, Ty?” He asks, his enthusiasm only slightly depleted. “I haven’t seen you much, since we met outside the catacombs.” 

“What?” 

“I said, I haven’t seen you around much since the catacombs.” 

“You…you know what the catacombs are.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement that I’m desperately trying to make sense of. It’s not like nobody knows about the catacombs, it’s a bit of an open secret around Watford. But if there is a single place that Snow would associate with me, it’s the tunnels where we played a game of cat and mouse for an entire year. 

The place where I first realized I loved him. 

“Yeah, of course!” He says, stuffing a few papers into the top of his bag. “I spent, like, an entire year down there. I’d tie a string to the entrance and walk and walk until I got to the end of my rope, and then I’d go back. I was chasing…” He bites his lip. “I was following…” his eyes gloss over ever so slightly and he stares at a blank spot on the wall. “I was…” he gnaws on his lip, just a bit, and scratches his arm. Right where, under all of my layers of spellwork, his soulmark lies. I can almost see a layer of my spell starting to crumble under his fingers. “I was following…I was going after…I was chasing something. Oh my god, Baz, what was I chasing?” 

“What?” I say again, far less icy and far more desperate than I was hoping. Without my consent, my hand has closed over my new leather band with a force that would have shattered Snow’s arm. “What did you just call me?” I ask again, in my best impression of my Father’s most imperious attitude. 

“I called you Ty, didn’t I? That’s your name. Tyrone.” 

I should call him an imbecile. I should call Dev and Niall over, and make fun of Snow with them. A little bonding exercise. 

I should do something to make him hate me. Otherwise, what was it all for? I gave up true love. I gave up _Snow._ He lost such a large chunk of his memory that someone is bound to notice, and pin it on me, and send me to get locked up in a tower like my cousin. 

“Yes,” I say. “That’s my name.”

**PENNY**

Baz is plotting something. And yes, I _know_ that’s Simon’s line. But he hasn’t been using it recently, and that’s what makes me more suspicious of Baz than I’ve ever been before. 

At this point, I’m certain that Baz did something to Simon. Simon’s not dedicated enough to play the long con, and definitely not a good enough liar to play it on me. Every single memory of Baz has been erased from his mind. 

His memory is fine, when Baz isn’t involved. He can remember the first time he met me, down to the names of the only other Indian girls he’d ever met (poor Simon. He’s so lucky he has me, he could’ve easily been semi-racist his entire life. The Mage would’ve loved that. _Baz_ would’ve loved that). He remembers the full names of everyone in my family, and what my dad’s favorite curry is. Give him a map, and he can point to every single home he’s ever lived at. 

But he’s forgotten half of our conversations, the ones that involved Baz. And the only thing he remembers about vampires is that they can turn into bats. He doesn’t recognize, or even seem to see, Baz’s mother’s portrait. He knows that he and Agatha broke up, but has no idea why. In desperation (I assume), Agatha finally pulled out a handkerchief with Baz’s initials embroidered into the corner, which she’s apparently been carrying around since last year. It smells like cedar and bergamot. Like Baz. 

Simon looked straight past it and went to bed with a headache at one in the afternoon. 

I don’t know what Baz has been doing during all of this. He hasn’t been staying in Simon’s room—I know that because I’ve been sleeping in his bed nearly every night. Simon doesn’t protest anymore (he’s confused about why his one person room has two beds), and it lets me get away from that damned pixie and her insufferable girlfriend. And so what if Baz catches me? I’d like a good reason to punch him, even if he snaps my neck and drains me afterwards. At least, when they find my dead body, they’ll be able to finally hunt him down. 

I don’t know. Maybe now that Simon’s stopped his constant stream of anti-Baz rhetoric, I feel like I need to fill the Baz quota all by myself. Agatha certainly isn’t being any help. 

“If he’s staying out of Simon’s way, what’s the problem?” She said, when I asked her what she thought Baz was up to. “I like Simon a lot better this way, honestly. It’s nice when his entire life doesn’t revolve around Baz.” 

So, I guess it’s up to me to get to the bottom of Baz’s latest plot (if he was ever even plotting before). And make sure that Simon and Agatha don’t get back together, now that Simon’s blissfully unaware of their convoluted love triangle dynamic. 

I’m not used to solo work. 

Nicks and Slick, Simon. Come back. 

**SIMON**

I think I’m going insane. 

There’s a new boy at Watford, the fucking _prettiest_ boy, and he’s in my year and everyone seems to think he’s been here all along. Penny and Agatha say that his name is…not Tyrone, but no matter how much I try, I can’t remember what they say it is. I know I used to know. Maybe they’re the ones who are going crazy, and I’m the only sane one here. 

I seriously doubt that. 

There are other things, too. Like, unless Penny walks in front of me the entire way, I can’t find my classrooms. I can’t find my _own room._ I keep walking into the other bed in my room (I have bruises all up my shins), and knocking things off shelves, and I used to be clumsy but nowhere near this. Facts seem to slip out of my mind like water, seconds after I learn them, even though I usually try to associate each fact with something else so I’ll have failsafes set in place, just in case I get called on a world saving mission and don’t have time to study for finals. 

I have a constant headache, now. I’ve been skipping half of my classes and just wandering aimlessly in the catacombs. Half the time, I forget my string. The other day, I forgot my last name. 

The only time anything seems to set into place is when I’m near _him._ Ty. Somehow, just looking at him makes me feel better. 

  
I think I need to spend more time near him. For my sanity. Also, just because I want to. 

Maybe, if I got _really_ close, he’d let me kiss him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting so long! I was having so much fun with this story, but then school hit and I had literally no time for three months straight. But I'm back!! Thank you for all of your wonderful comments, and for still being interested in this story after all this time. Wash your hands, stay safe, and you'll hear from me again soon ❤️


	6. All These Little Landmines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What did I think this was going to accomplish, anyway? I’d drag him into a supply cupboard, and, out of the goodness of his heart (does he even have a heart?) he’d just tell me what spell he used on Simon, and then help me break it?
> 
> “Alright,” he says, still leaning back against the wall, eyes closed, his neck elongated as far as it will go. From my point of view, at least four inches below his chin, I can’t see his eyes. If I didn’t know better (do I know better?) I’d say he was exhausted. Defeated. “Since you asked so nicely,” a bit of venom drips back into his voice, and I’m almost relieved. “I’ll tell you what spell I used on the Chosen One. And then, because I’m such a nice person, I’ll help you break it.”

**BAZ**

Bunce grabs me, and I’m too shocked to wrench my arm from her disgustingly moist grip as she drags me out of the hallway and into—cliché of all clichés—a storage cupboard. Never mind the fact that I have a class in ten minutes (and Simon will never find it without me), I’m gobsmacked (and just a little impressed) that Bunce had the nerve. 

“Yes?” I say, hitching my eyebrow up as high as it will go, in the expression I usually reserve for when Snow is being especially stupid. 

“Baz,” she says, yanking the door shut and finally letting go of my arm. I dust off my jacket, and debate casting **_dry as a bone_**. Even if it is just a school uniform, I hate having sweat stains on my clothing. I decide not to, however, because Bunce has got a steely look in her eyes and, although I could probably beat her if push came to shove, I’d rather it didn’t. I’ve slept maybe six hours in as many days, and it’s beginning to take its toll. 

I wait for Bunce to say something, but after she finishes casting **_lock yourself away_** on the cupboard door,she just stands there, looking around the dim little cupboard. What’s so interesting to her? The cobwebs? 

“Bunce,” I say, not angrily (I don’t have the energy for anger), but far from gently.

“What?” She snaps. 

“I don’t know. _You’re_ the one who disrupted my walk to Political Science by dragging me into this closet,” I say, spreading my arms as wide as I can in these confines. “ _I_ should be asking _you_.” 

“Well, I’m not the one who’s bewitched Simon!” She shoots back. “What are you plotting, Baz?” 

I roll my eyes. This situation is just so ridiculous. We’re both on the same side here, we both want Snow to survive and the war to go away and me to die some kind of gruesome death. I’m surprised that she hasn’t figured it out yet. 

“I don’t know,” I say. “What _am_ I plotting? Something to do with the fall of the Chosen One, obviously. Possibly, I’ll take down the Mage, too. And I’ve jumpstarted my entire evil plan by wiping Si—Snow’s memory completely of any trace of myself. Of course, I haven’t wiped anyone else’s memory so I can’t go undercover, because everyone else already knows who I am. And eventually, the Mage will notice Snow’s suspicious amnesia and pin the crime on me, at which point I’ll be thrown in a tower or worse. So please tell me, Bunce, what would I ever get out of that? What’s my master plot?” 

I lean back on the door, cross my arms and legs, and try not to think about how I just told Bunce nearly everything, and basically admitted to wiping Snow’s memory. I’ve got to get some more sleep. Or more blood. Or more life, or sanity. 

Blood’s the easiest. Once we’re done with whatever tawdry drama Bunce is enacting here, I’ll go kill a few rats. 

**PENNY**

I ran out of options, alright? I’ve been trying to surreptitiously follow Baz, but I keep bumping into Simon and he always wanted to chat. He’s been so lonely recently, and he doesn’t know why. It pulls on my heart like nothing else ever has. 

So, I gave up following Baz, but I kept trying to talk to him. So far, I’ve approached him at breakfast (Dev and Niall accosted me before I got halfway to his table, and he was gone when I finally got there), dinner (he left the dining hall the second he saw me get up), on the lawn (he ignored me completely) and during class ( _Don’t you have somewhere to be, Bunce? I think Snow just set your hair on fire_ ). 

He did, too. Took me and Agatha two days to grow my hair back out. Simon kept apologizing, but I was just relieved that he remembered he’d done it.

I was about to give up on ever cornering Baz, and go the research route instead, but this morning was the worst yet. It took Simon fifteen minutes into breakfast to talk to us, another ten to remember who we were (he remembered me before he figured out who Agatha was. I tried not to be pleased), and by the time breakfast was done, he still hadn’t realized that he wasn’t in a home. So when I saw Baz passing by the storage cupboard where Agatha and I once hid from a humdrum-sent swarm of flutterbyes, I snapped. 

“Baz,” I say now, in my most reasonable tone. “You’ve always hated Simon, and now he’s got the magickal equivalent of dementia. What better plot could you have?” My voice wavers towards the end, and I choke back a sob. Baz is ruthless. I can’t think of anyone worse to cry in front of. 

“What?” He asks, too quickly. His arms are still crossed ever so casually, but there’s a new stiffness in his shoulders. “I thought it was only his memories of me that were affected.” 

“No!” I say, and despite my best efforts, I sniffle like a child. “The other day, in class, the teacher called Simon Snow, and he said ‘my name’s Simon, too’. I had to answer roll call for him. And he nearly died when the Mage made him fight a Chimera the other day, because he kept forgetting it was there.” I overheard the Mage telling Miss Possibelf that the chimera had nearly ripped Simon’s arm off. Simon didn’t tell me. I think he forgot. 

“I didn’t know…” Baz says, to himself more than to me. It could just be a trick of the light, but he almost doesn’t seem happy about it. 

“It’s getting worse,” I press. “Every day, he’s worse. I need to know what spell you used, so I can figure out if there’s a counter curse. I’ve already tried **_run, you clever boy_** , but I think that only works if I’m dying. I also tried a few spell-reversing enchantments, like **_backspace_** and…” 

“You tried _what_?” Suddenly, Baz is inches away from me, every line in his body taught, his eyes the most manic I’ve ever seen them. And just as suddenly, I realize what a horrible mistake it was, locking myself in a supply cupboard with an evil vampire. 

**BAZ**

“Spell reversing enchantments,” Bunce says, her voice and lip wobbling just enough that I know she’s truly petrified. Good. 

“Did anything _happen_ when you tried them?” I ask, leaning even closer, putting on my most menacing voice. I debate letting my fangs drop, just a bit, but decide it’s too risky when I’m this hungry. 

“I don’t know,” she says, trying to step backwards and running into the wall, “nothing with his memory. I thought I might’ve seen something move around his wrist.” 

_“Fuck.”_

**PENNY**

_“Fuck,”_ Baz says, leaning his head back against the closet wall, giving me just enough room to get past him to the door. But as soon as I begin to move, his hand shoots out and closes around my wrist. Tight. 

“Let me go,” I say, twisting my wrist until it pops, but his grip remans steel tight. He hasn’t even opened his eyes. 

“You’re the one who dragged me in here,” he says, almost lazily, but I can tell his brain is working a mile a minute. This is, as Simon has pointed out billions of times, his plotting expression. 

“Yes,” I say, “And now I’m leaving. You don’t have to stay here anymore.” I’ll find out what’s going on with Simon on my own. I don’t need Baz. What did I think this was going to accomplish, anyway? I’d drag him into a supply cupboard, and, out of the goodness of his heart (does he even have a heart?) he’d just tell me what spell he used on Simon, and then help me break it?

“Alright,” he says, still leaning back against the wall, eyes closed, his neck elongated as far as it will go. From my point of view, at least four inches below his chin, I can’t see his eyes. If I didn’t know better (do I know better?) I’d say he was exhausted. Defeated. “Since you asked so _nicely_ ,” a bit of venom drips back into his voice, and I’m almost relieved. “I’ll tell you what spell I used on the Chosen One. And then, because I’m such a nice person, I’ll help you break it.” 

**BAZ**

Through the tiny gap between my eyelids, Bunce looks like I’ve just slapped her upside the head, or hit her with a **_dazed and confused_**. I allow myself a brief smile at her expense, while I gather my thoughts. 

I have to tell her. That much has become obvious. If my spell was truly this devastating, I need to remove it as soon as possible, before any of the memory loss becomes permanent, and before the Mage is alerted. And someone has to stay at Watford, to keep tabs on Snow and make sure he doesn’t remember anything. 

Because I haven’t seen nearly the effect Bunce has, and I know she wouldn’t lie about something this urgent. She’s far too honorable. And if he regains some normality when he spends time around me, that must mean that I’m jogging his memory. And Snow, incorrigible even in his subconscious, is fighting to remember me. I should be flattered. 

I’m not. 

Because if his memory gets jogged every time he sees me, he’ll be this confused for the rest of his life. And if he remembers me, the Mage will be able to see right through any pretense he makes. The jig will be up before it even starts. 

There’s only one thing to do. I need to remove the spell, place a new, better spell in its place, and leave. And Bunce needs to stay, keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t remember anything. She’ll say that she won’t do anything for me, and pretend that she won’t cooperate, but she’ll do it for him, because I would. Penny and I don’t agree on anything except for Simon. 

“So, what spell _did_ you use? And why would you possibly want to help me?” Bunce asks, recovering from her shock disappointingly fast. All of the Bunces are incorrigible, and extremely predictable. 

“It was a necessary precaution,” I say, draining as much emotion as possible from my voice. Unfortunately, even with my years of practice, I can’t get rid of it all. “And it was his idea.” 

“It was _Simon’s_ idea to completely fuck up his brain?” Bunce asks, raising her eyebrows so high that her glasses slide down her nose. “I’m supposed to believe that?” 

“I know it’s hard to believe,” I say, “Snow isn’t known for having brilliant ideas. To be fair, he didn’t know that he was coming up with it. But I always give credit where credit is due.” 

“So he said something like _what are you going to do now? Erase my memory?_ And you thought, _hey, jackpot_.” She pushes her glasses back up, eyes glinting. If I were anyone else, I’d probably be scared. “I don’t know what I was trying to do, talking to you. You’re incapable of kindness, or change.” She steps towards the door again, and I block her again. We’re almost touching now, close enough to kiss. Or bite. Definitely bite. “Let me out!” 

“No.” 

“Baz!” She shoves me, but it’s not even enough force to compromise my balance. It’s been like withdrawal, stopping a near-decade long rivalry this abruptly, and I feel the thrill of the fight creeping up on me. She’s no Snow, but she’ll do. 

**PENNY**

Baz grabs me again, but this time his grip is iron tight. He throws me up against the nearest wall (although every wall is nearest right now), and my feet almost leave the floor. Not even Simon can lift me anymore. I’m grudgingly impressed. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says, low and dangerous. Simon’s right. His teeth look way longer than usual. 

“What are you going to do now?” I ask, tilting my chin up and locking my eyes with his, in my best (and well practiced) _you can kill me, but you’ll never kill my spirit_ expression. This isn’t the first time I’ve been captured by a villain. It is the first time I’ve been captured without Simon. “Are you going to use me as a Simon substitute, punch me up a bit? Harder than you thought to hate an amnesia victim?” 

His grip loosens just enough for me to get my toes on the ground, and something flashes across his eyes. I’ve landed a blow on my very first try. Point, Penny. 

“I don’t,” he says, his voice softer than I thought it could ever get. 

“You don’t see me as a Simon replacement?” I ask, staring him down. He breaks eye contact. “I’m sure he’d be glad to hear that, if only he remembered who I am. Or who you are. Or who he is.” 

“I don’t hate him,” Baz mumbles, still looking away from me. 

“Excuse me?” My eyes hurt from how wide they’ve been involuntarily wrenched open. There are only two things I’m always sure of: Simon, and that Baz has always hated him. 

“I don’t hate him,” he repeats, in a stronger voice, but still nowhere near as emotionless as usual. 

“This is a trick,” I say, shrugging his hands off. Amazingly, they slip from my arms and my feet land fully on the ground. “You have always hated Simon, and you will always hate Simon. There is literally nothing you can say or do to convince me otherwise.” He opens his mouth, but I cut him off. “No! Basilton, this conversation is long over.” 

I start towards the door, and amazingly, he doesn’t stop me. I’ve almost got it opened ( ** _lock yourself away_** is notoriously hard to break, even if you cast it yourself), when Baz calls quietly after me. 

“Bunce.” 

Against every single one of my better judgements, I turn back around. 

  
“What?” I snap, holding eye contact like he’s a dangerous creature. Which he may well be. He rolls his eyes, and nods blatantly to something below my field of vision. I follow his tilted head, and my eyes land on his wrist. 

My first thought is that he doesn’t have his bracelet on. I’ve never seen someone as fastidious with bracelets as Baz is, and it’s incredibly out of character. I’m so stuck on the bracelet that it takes me a few seconds to notice the actual writing. Or, more accurately, the actual _hand_ writing. 

I recognize that scrawl almost better than my own. I’ve corrected it on assignments, I’ve imitated it on ransom note responses, when Simon’s out on some other mission and the issue is urgent. I’ve cried over it, during the long summers when Simon’s being starved and abused at yet another awful home. 

And it’s on _Baz’s_ arm. 

Finally, everything is starting to make sense. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I wasn't expecting such a wonderful response to my last chapter. Thank you all for reading, and commenting and kudos-ing. You have no idea how much I appreciate it. You've turned what could have been one of my worst few days into some of the best! 
> 
> Also, Penny and Baz don't have nearly enough scenes together. I think that, as the two smartest and most Simon-obsessed students at Watford, they deserve to have their dynamic explored more. So, I wrote this scene, and I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. Please let me know what you think, if you feel like it!!
> 
> As always, stay safe. I'll be back soon, I promise.


	7. On These Broken Wings I'm Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mage is ready. Simon is losing his fight with reality. Baz is losing his fight with himself. Agatha is hurt, and Penny has big news.

**The Mage**

Simon was due for his private lesson five minutes ago. 

Simon was due for his private lesson an hour ago. 

Simon is two hours late to his private lesson. 

It’s something to do with that Pitch boy. I’ve never been so sure of anything. 

Missing classes? Missing _meals_? He didn’t even visit the goatherd this week. He was nearly slaughtered by a Chimera, and Miss Possibelf told me that, the other day, he seemed to have forgotten his own name. I know that the Pitch brat has been skipping class, too. 

I should have done something more to protect him. I should have just killed the Pitch the second he stepped foot on Watford’s grounds. 

I wave my hand, and one of my Men steps forward. A Bunce. I don’t know which, Mitali’s spread her magick among so many offspring that I’m surprised any Bunce can light a candle. 

“Sir?” 

“Track the Pitch boy,” I say. “See if the Chosen One is spending time with him. Ask your sister for help. Bring any information back to me.” 

Bunce nods, and retreats back into the shadows. 

I called Simon here today, because there’s been a break. No new holes have opened up in over two weeks, no new attacks from the Humdrum in just as long. Finally, we can stop fighting two cold wars and begin to fight a true one. 

If Simon regains his wits, then the World of Mages has the Greatest Mage back, and I can at last begin to use him strategically. If he does not (and Lucy, I fear that may be the case), I’ll find some way to blame it all on the Pitch brat, and, by extension, the entirety of the Old Families.

Either way, the war starts now. And the war starts with him. 

Our rosebud boy. 

**SIMON**

I know that the world is still colorful for everyone else. A group of people is laughing near a tree, and I know they’re happy, under what must be a bright blue sky. But color and happiness don’t even seem to be options for me anymore. 

There’s a girl walking across the lawn, maybe heading towards me. She has long blonde hair, and a beautiful white dress. And I feel like, a few years ago, I would’ve gone over there and talked to her. Back then, I think she would’ve been the most beautiful person in the world to me, with her golden hair flying in the wind like an angel. But now, I just see the hem of her dress dragging in the dirt, turning from white to brown ever so gradually. She waves at someone who I think is me. I don’t wave back. I don’t know her. 

Something deep in the recesses of my brain, something that sounds a lot like my own voice, is screaming at me. It happens a lot. I think I used to spend hours trying to hear it, trying to figure out what it meant. Then, I tried to make it go away. I’m pretty sure that’s how I got this black and purple bruise on my forehead, and the stiff pain in my shoulder. 

_Why did I waste all that time injuring you, when I could’ve let you do it to yourself?_ A voice asks. This time, it’s not mine. _Be careful, you absolute moron,_ it adds, and I still don’t know who’s talking. For some reason, not being able to place the voice upsets me more than anything else on the list of things I can’t remember. 

I’m pretty sure that list is growing every day. But, of course, I can’t remember a single item. 

I turn my back on the girl, and begin to walk towards the woods. I’m pretty sure that I like the woods. I’m also fairly certain that something bad happened to me there. 

“Hi, Simon,” yet another voice says. I ignore it, and keep on walking. It’ll go away eventually, if I keep ignoring it. “Simon!” The voice calls again, closer this time. I know someone named Simon. I think.

The woods. Simon. _Simon, I can explain._ A girl, a boy. I didn’t like it. I _don’t_ like it. And then dry, so dry, and there’s my ball…

A hand touches me on the arm, and I whirl around faster than I knew I could move. And I’m holding a sword. I swear I didn’t have a sword before. I did have a ball, but it wasn’t _me._

I think I might have to hit myself in the head again. 

“Simon,” the girl with the white dress says, holding her hands up in a placating gesture, her face almost the same color as her dress. “I’m not going to hurt you. Please, put the sword away.” 

“Your dress is getting dirty,” I say stupidly. It’s the best I can do, while I’m trying to drown out all the noise blaring in my head. I’m still holding the sword, and I’m sure it looks like I’m about to attack her. I think, if I were to attack her, I’d know exactly how.

She looks down, ignoring me and the sword for a second, hiking her dress up with a perfectly manicured hand. “Oh, thank you. I know you’ve always liked this dress.” She smiles as she turns back to face me, but her grin wavers as she sees the sword. “Please put it away,” she says again. 

“How?” I ask. There’s a distant feeling that I shouldn’t be asking for help, that I should be able to do this on my own, that this is _my_ sword. _My_ life. But, just like every other unexplainable feeling, I tuck it away. **_Out of sight, out of mind._**

“You just did it, on your own,” the girl says, like I’m a two year old who put on my own shoes. And the sword’s gone. If the girl weren’t still here, I’d think I made it up. “Good job, Simon."

_Who’s Simon?_ I’m about to ask. _Who are you? How did I get that sword?_

And then, in the distance, I see a boy. About my age, dark hair all slicked back (but I think I’d like it better down). He looks up at me, and sneers (I don’t know why him sneering at me makes me so happy) (I think his name is Tyrone). 

And when I look back down, I don’t think anymore. It’s like I’ve found all of the combinations to all the safes in my mind, everything I’ve been trying to crack for who knows how long. 

This girl is _Agatha_ , my ex girlfriend who I caught kissing…someone in the wavering woods last year. I summoned the Sword of Mages when she startled me, it’s as reflexive as blocking a punch at this point. And that dress is the one I helped her pick out during a shopping trip two years ago. She was shocked that I was able to stay interested in the proceedings for as long as I did. _Penny would’ve cast_ ** _time flies_** _about twenty minutes ago,_ she said as we went to the second store. _I’m not Penny,_ I said. _And I_ am _having fun._ And she smiled at me. 

“Thanks, Aggs,” I say, actually smiling for the first time in weeks, lowering my hand. She looks more relieved than she did the time I cut the chain around her ankle just seconds before the water covered her nose. 

“You know who I am?” She asks, eyes wide and happy. She knows I know. 

  
“Yeah, Agatha,” I say, “I do.” She lets out a huge breath. 

“I thought you were going to cut me in half for a second.”

“So did I,” I say. Her eyebrows furrow again. “Sorry, Agatha.” Using her name makes her happy, so I’m doing it as much as possible. Her lips quirk up, just a bit, but it’s enough. “Sorry, but I’ve got to go. See you later?” 

“Later,” she calls after me, but I’m already running. Towards Ty. 

How did I ever forget about him? 

**AGATHA**

I can’t help it. As soon as Simon takes off, running with his patented hero’s stride (honestly, I’m glad he still knows how to run) I crumple on the ground. My dress might be completely ruined. For once, I don’t really care. Plus, I know Penny can help me with laundry spells. 

I honestly thought Simon was going to kill me. _Simon_ thought he was going to kill me. Imagine dying at his hand, after everything we’ve been through together. The look on his face, and the sword in his hand, and my heart beating straight out of my chest. And his face is morphing, into the werewolf who almost _did_ remove my heart in third year, and then the half-snake who nearly buried me alive in first year. I was only eleven.

This happens, every once in a while. When I’m scared or drunk or just randomly. My brain plays a highlights reel of every time I’ve been a near death situation, every attacker’s face….it’s always bad, but seeing Simon’s attack snarl aimed at me makes it that much worse. I’ll be shaking for hours. Is this how Baz feels? 

But Baz always fights back. Maybe that’s how he’s able to handle it, because he landed his punches and defended his pride. I’m not a fighter. The sharpest thing I’ve willingly wielded is a nail file. I don’t even have my wand on me, right now. Simon would’ve just cut me in half, and I wouldn’t have fought back, and I’d be bleeding out on the Great Lawn right now. 

Merlin. I wish I would’ve made friends with a less dramatic crowd. 

I’ve heard, over and over again, that it’s not easy being the hero. My parents said it to me, when Simon would come to my house and sulk for hours. The Mage would say it with a sigh, when Simon would go off in the middle of class. Penny would say it while rubbing my back, calming me down after Simon had gone off on me. 

But I think it’s not easy being the Hero’s friend. Everything that happens to Simon happens to us, at least tangentially, and we’re the ones who pick up the pieces once everything’s over. 

This time, I don’t know if there are enough pieces of Simon to pick up. 

But we’ll keep trying, I realize, as I pick myself up and check my dress (the dress Simon bought me, he was so proud) for grass stains. Penny and I, we’ll do anything we can to get Simon back. And it won’t be for the World of Mages, because honestly, I couldn’t care less (Penny might care, because she’s incredibly unselfish and very politically minded, but that’s not her whole reason). 

I’ll save Simon because I’ve known him since I was eleven. And I’ve loved him as much as I can. And every single day, I re-make the decision to stay here because he needs me (Penny does, too). 

I’ll save Simon for Simon’s own sake. And I’ll save him for Penny. Maybe even for Baz. But most of all, I’ll save him for me. 

He’s still running across the great lawn, towards Baz, who I think he might love more than he ever loved me. 

And I keep walking, towards nobody. 

**BAZ**

Snow is barreling straight towards me, leaving clouds of dust and coughing students in his wake. I think he may have actually stepped on someone’s picnic (there seems to be some egg salad clinging to his left shoe). I doubt he’ll get reprimanded, ruining someone’s lunch doesn’t even touch the top fifty disturbances he’s made at Watford over the years. 

If the Mage didn’t like him so much, he’d have been thrown out years ago. If _I_ didn’t like him so much, he’d already be dead. At least he wouldn’t be slowly going insane. 

He’s yelling something. My name. But it’s not really my name, is it? Tyrone is a figment of Snow’s imagination. Tyrone and Snow don’t have eight years of history together. Tyrone has never fought with Snow, Tyrone has never pushed him down the stairs, Tyrone has a broken nose and Snow doesn’t know why. Tyrone never tried to kill Simon Snow. Tyrone never kissed Simon Snow. 

I am not Tyrone. 

I turn my back on him. I’ve been missing classes, missing meals, missing Snow for days. And I intend to keep doing so, until Bunce and I come up with a passable substitute for **_Forget About the Boy_**. I packed my bag while Snow was trying to find his History classroom, and I’ll send a little bird to Father when I’m ready to go on my deep undercover mission inside a Mage-sympathetic vampire coven. 

I have no idea where I’ll actually go. I’ve been taking a leaf from Snow’s book, trying not to think about it. 

“Ty!” He calls again. He’s gaining on me. I’m tempted, so incredibly tempted, to turn back around. Let him catch up to me. Kiss him, kill him, pretend to be someone I’m not, just to see his face one last time. 

I break into a run. 

By the time Snow tracks me to the Weeping Tower, he won’t even remember who I am. 

**SIMON**

Ty starts running. Away from me. So fast, it’s almost inhuman. The voice in the back of my mind picks up, practically screaming at me, but I tune it out. 

I can’t afford any distractions. I have to catch him. I _have_ to see him. 

Left, right. Breathe in, breathe out. 

I’m losing ground. He’s running fast, much faster than I can. I’m afraid that any second, my brain will lose its grip on reality again and I’ll forget how to run. 

No. _No._ I have to catch Ty. 

Left, right. Left, right. 

I think I forgot to breathe. My head’s getting all light. My brain’s slowing down. But at least I’m still running after him. 

Left, right.

He’s disappearing over the hill, not even breathing hard. Something tells me he’d be a marvelous footballer. 

Left, right. 

Have to catch him. 

Left, right. 

Have to catch….what? 

Left, right. 

Wait. Why am I running?

I stop to take a few breaths, hands on my knees. That’s so weird. One minute, I’m pulling a sword on a girl, and the next I’m running up a hill, and it seems like I’ve been running for a while. I’m definitely not on the great lawn anymore. And the stitch in my side is almost unbearable.

I sag to the ground, grasping at a tuft of grass to keep me from sliding down the hill. The grass cuts into my hand, like a million tiny paper cuts, but I ignore it. Why am I breathing so hard? Was I running? Where did the girl go? 

My hand is holding onto something, and I’m not sure what. It feels weird, though, kind of slimy, so I let go. Suddenly, I start to slide. I try to grab onto a tuft of grass ( _oh._ That’s what I was holding) but all the blood on my right hand keeps me from finding a good grasp, and I pick up speed. Soon, I’m sliding uncontrollably down the hill, ricocheting off tree stumps and skinning all my exposed skin on the gravel. 

Why am I breathing so hard? And am I on a hill? Why do I hurt so much? Ow! That was a big rock. And another rock. And a tree branch, whipping across my eyes. 

Instinctively (I get the sense that I’m pretty used to being injured), I press my left wrist to my eyes, hard, trying to dull the smart. But I keep my eyes open, just in case I see an obstacle that I can actually avoid, before I forget it’s there. 

I’m nearing the bottom (how did I never realize how high this hill is?) when something catches my eye. Just for a second, a flash of gold on my wrist. One word. _Snow_. 

Only one person calls me Snow. 

I don’t even wait until I’ve stopped rolling. I scramble upright the best I can, and start back up the (now, slightly bloody) hill. My arm might not be completely in its socket, and the slash across my eyes is definitely bleeding. But it’s okay. Pain helps me concentrate. And I need to concentrate, if I’m going to remember why I’m slogging up this horrible hill for the second time today. 

“Ty,” I whisper to myself, roughly wiping blood out of my eye, forcing my feet forward with every ounce of willpower I can muster (and everyone in the World of Mages knows just how stubborn I am). “ I have to find Ty.” 

**PENNY**

I don’t notice Agatha until I’ve already run straight into her. _That’s what walking while you read gets you, Penelope,_ my mother’s voice scolds. I brush it off. 

“Sorry, Aggs,” I say, offering her my hand. She looks more than a little miffed to have been knocked to the lawn. She must be worried about grass stains. 

“It’s alright,” she says, taking my hand and letting me pull her up. “As long as you help me wash this dress.” 

“Done,” I say. “Have you seen Baz? It’s urgent.” 

“Simon was chasing him over that hill, last I saw him,” she says, pointing back over her shoulder, her bottom lip sticking out just a bit. I hope she’s not going to pout for too long. It’s not like I _meant_ to run into her. 

“Thanks, Agatha,” I say, dusting her shoulders off before I grab her hand and pull her after me. 

“Penny!” She shrieks, her pretty but completely unpractical shoes sliding over the lawn. “What are you doing?” 

“Premal just told me something,” I tell her, over my shoulder. “And I think you and Baz are _really_ going to want to hear it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this was a pretty long chapter! I hope you enjoyed it...I had a ton of fun writing it! There's going to be some big events next chapter, which will definitely be coming out within the next week. So be ready!
> 
> On a different note, thank you all so much for your kudos and wonderful comments. I can't tell you how happy they make me. And, as always, feel free to tell me what you think! I love hearing from you more than you can imagine. 
> 
> Stay safe, everyone. The next chapter will be out soon xxx


	8. True Love's Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz is in hiding. Simon is searching for...something. Their paths converge in the weeping tower.

**BAZ**

I haven’t been outside the catacombs for this long in weeks, and all the sunlight is starting to get to me. My eyes feel like they’ve been rubbed raw with sandpaper, and my forehead stings from being in the sun without a hat (sometimes, I almost miss those awful boaters) (I spelled Snow’s on, one time, when Bunce was sick. He only let me because he thought I’d do it wrong). 

This was supposed to be my great victory. Finally ruining Snow’s life. I’m certain Fiona would be in hysterics, watching him forget his name and his place and his magick. The Old Families will probably build a statue of me, to celebrate my achievement, when I’m already in prison or assassinated. And that statue will have this _stupid_ leather band around its wrist. And no one will ever understand that I did it for all the right reasons. 

Least of all Snow. 

I don’t know if enough Snow is left to understand anything. 

Seeing him like this is harder than loving him with no hope of reciprocation. It’s harder than knowing he’ll kill me one day (and he still will. He’s killing me right now). That vacant look in his eyes (I’ve made fun of that before. I never will again), the way it clears when he sees me. How he finally wants to spend time around me, _needs_ it even. The only thing I’ve ever wanted. The exact opposite of what this curse was meant to do. Our sacrifice, our happiness, went for nothing. And every time I close my eyes, I see the look in Snow’s eyes just before I cast the curse (cliché, I know. But what about this isn’t?). 

He looks like that all the time, now. And if I have to see that deadness, that look of utter loss, one more time, I _will_ undo the curse. And maybe then, when he remembers everything I’ve done to him, that’s when he’ll finally hate me. 

I should have gone straight back to the catacombs, as soon as Snow disappeared over the top of that hill. I should have gone to the catacombs, grabbed my bag, and left Watford for good. Left _Snow_ for good.

I still have time to leave. To go to Russia or Serbia, or some other place that’s cold and dark. Or maybe to Mexico or the Bahamas, because a life of pain is what I deserve.

But I’m weak. And I have a meeting with Bunce tonight, in the Weeping Tower, because she doesn’t like the catacombs. And who would suspect me (not to mention Golden Girl Penelope Bunce) of planning a covert meeting in the Weeping Tower? The hub of school activity, the location of the dining hall, the locale of the Mage’s (my mother’s) own quarters? 

Alright, so maybe meeting in the weeping tower was an absolutely idiotic idea (somebody has to be an idiot, now that Snow’s too far gone to even be moronic. I never though it would be me).

Still, Bunce and I have an appointment, and I need to get some more food from the kitchens (I haven’t eaten in at least three days). So, I’ll put off leaving for good. Just until Bunce and I ( _there’s_ a sentence I thought I’d never use) find the right spell. Until I see Snow from a distance a few more times, from where I can’t see his eyes, and imagine a life that will never be. Until I visit my mother’s grave, and her portrait, and maybe even find the nursery where I was Turned. 

Until I have time to say goodbye.

**SIMON**

I’m walking with a purpose. The only trouble is that I keep forgetting what that purpose is. 

The only thing I’ve figured out is that wherever I’m going, it must be really important. If it weren’t, I wouldn’t be walking purposefully away from my room (if my room is really in the direction I think it is) when I’m this tired and in this much pain. 

I veer off the cobbled path and into a stone wall, hitting it purposefully and full-tilt, jamming my shoulder mostly back in place. It hurts, but that’s okay. It keeps me awake, keeps me walking it off. 

There are so many buildings around here, but it’s hard to keep a fix on any of them. They’re all shimmering, but not the sparkly unicorn rainbow type of shimmer. The dry heat, sucking, stomach-churning, dizzying shimmer. And when I look down, there seems to be some kind of light coming from my skin. But that obviously can’t be right. 

There’s something on my wrist, and when I look closer (pain is good, but I can’t think about it all the time. I’d explode) I recognize it as a letter. If I think really, really hard I can almost remember dipping my finger in the blood running down my cheek and writing it. Two intersecting lines, shaky and fading to a dull brown. It’s a T. 

T? I wouldn’t have written it if it wasn’t really important, but I can’t think of many things beginning with the letter T. I can’t think of many things, period. Tigers, tubas, tendrils? 

And then it finally hits me. How could I have possibly forgotten? The sun’s in the right place (I think) and my stomach is churning with that sick, dry feeling. I must be heading in for afternoon tea. 

**BAZ**

I’m on the third floor, lurking (at least, that’s what Snow would call it) in the darkest part of a dead end hallway. Nobody goes down here anymore, so I’m fairly sure that I won’t be disturbed mid-brood. Rumor has it there used be be an invisibility classroom on the other side of the brick wall, but someone cast an invisibility spell so strong that the entire classroom permanently disappeared. If Snow had any kind of Magickal lineage, I’d say he was related to the proverbial student. 

It’s a slippery and all too familiar slope, thinking about Simon Snow. One second, he’s an idiot Normal. The next, he’s leaning closer and closer to me, and I can see every one of his moles, and he smiles…

And my wrist twinges, and I’m back in the dark hallway. Alone. 

**SIMON**

The air crackles with static energy and the sun is so hot on my back. All around me are huge, empty buildings, and I don’t recognize a single one. But I think I’ve been here before, because my feet seem to know the way. And I think I’m going somewhere, because I’m walking. And I think I’ve been here before, because my feet are walking and I don’t even have to think about it, so why am I thinking? Everything is so much easier when I don’t have to think. 

I think this would be a lot easier if I weren’t thinking. My arm hurts so much, and there’s blood running down my face.

I think I should probably stop thinking, and it would make everything a lot easier. So I hang my head, let my muscle memory take over, and empty my mind completely. 

Maybe I shouldn’t be thinking anymore. 

I don’t think I’ve been here before, but my feet seem to know the way. 

There’s nobody here, and the sun is so hot. 

**BAZ**

I wish I’d brought an illegal phone to Watford. Even I can only take so much sitting alone in the dark (before, I always knew that Snow was coming after me. It kept me going, kept me shaking him off). 

If I had a phone, I could just call Bunce instead of having to find a window and procure a bird _and_ arouse suspicion (little birds aren’t the most inconspicuous message delivery systems). I know _Bunce_ has a phone. She pulled it out automatically to look up popular sayings about memory, before she remembered I was there (I was worried, to be honest. I thought Snow’s memory loss was rubbing off on her. I made her recite my entire family tree). I told her I wouldn’t turn her in, and she didn’t believe me. Maybe I _should_ turn her in, just before I leave, so I can have a bit of a legacy once I’m gone. 

Honestly, it’s upsetting on principle that she’s broken the gendered dorms rule _and_ the phone rule when I’ve broken neither. Aren’t I supposed to be the evil one? 

**SIMON**

I’m walking. I’m bleeding. I’m in pain. 

I wonder why. 

**BAZ**

I’m pacing in and out of the shadows, now. I was recovering from the sunlight, and my inner masochist wouldn’t let that happen. Besides, I thought that maybe pacing would keep my mind off what I’m not thinking about right now, and it _does_ seem to be helping. I’ve been pacing for almost ten minutes, and I haven’t thought about Snow in almost eight. Honestly, I’m fairly impressed that I’ve gone this long without Simon Snow at the forefront of my mind. 

Wait. _Fuck._

**SIMON**

I’m walking, and I don’t know why, and I trip on the threshold (because I’m not even close to looking where I’m going), and my shoulder slams into the wall. 

The pain nearly knocks me out, but it also clears my mind just the tiniest bit. Just enough. 

I had an appointment with the Mage today, like five hours ago. _Fuck_. He’s going to be so disappointed. But I’m in the Weeping Tower, and I can run up to his quarters and apologize, or at least leave an apologetic sticky note. I’ll explain everything later (if I ever remember enough to explain). Hopefully, he won’t be too angry. 

Trying to get as far as I can with a clear mind, I sprint towards the staircase. I am going to make this right. 

**BAZ**

The Mage always has a flock of twittering birds flying around him. I can’t say how many times I’ve contemplated draining them all, just so I’d never have to hear them tweet again. But, besides potentially exposing my vampirism, the Mage would just restock with even louder and more ostentatious birds. I don’t think I could handle him walking through campus complete with swooping hawks and eagles. 

For the moment, however, his obsession with convenience is working in my favor. He surely won’t notice if I steal one of his myriad birds for a quick message. Normally, of course, I’d want to brag that I took the Mage’s bird right out from under his nose, but I don’t know what he’d do to Bunce if he found out that we’re working together (I do, however, have a pretty good idea of what he’d do to _me_ ), so I’ll keep a low profile. For now. 

I’ll go back to the dead-end hallway as soon as I’m done with my mission (isn’t that what the Mage calls them? And people say _I’m_ pretentious). But, to summon a bird, I need a window.

**SIMON**

It takes me three laps around the main floor to find the stairs (so I stopped to grab two handful of scones on my second lap, it only took a few seconds). I contemplated asking someone for directions, but realized I’d probably forget what they’d said before they finished talking. I’m already unclear as to where I’m going, just that it’s upstairs. 

  
Plus, people seem to be avoiding me. A girl almost jumped over a table to get out of my way in the dining hall, and I don’t remember ever seeing so many people pressed up against the wall (of course, I don’t remember much anymore). 

But, finally, here they are. The stairs. And, thank Merlin (who is Merlin?)…thank Christ I remember, for the moment, that I’m going up. 

**BAZ**

From hours and hours of wandering the grounds (Snow may think that I only roam the catacombs, but I visit my mother’s quarters whenever I can) (damn it, I was finally _not_ thinking about Snow), I know that the best window from which to steal one of the Mage’s birds is on the fifth floor, in the Literature classroom, directly above the Teacher’s desk. But, because I’m exhausted from the chase and the sunlight and the pacing, and because I don’t want to be seen breaking into a classroom in broad daylight, the third floor stairwell window will have to do. 

**SIMON**

I’m running up the stairs, so I’m just going to keep running until I get to the top. If nothing up there jogs my memory, then I guess I’ll go back down. The stairs are so steep, and my arm hurts so much, and I have the feeling that those two things connect (or connected) somehow but I don’t even know anymore. All I know is that I need to keep running. 

**BAZ**

The overwhelming power hits me, first. I haven’t felt that much concentrated force in weeks, and the break seems to have made me more susceptible to its effects. Against my will, I double over like I’ve been punched in the stomach as the scent of fire and brimstone fills the air. 

While I’m still reeling, the scent of blood permeates the air. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was, but if it was anyone but Snow coming up those stairs, the idea of draining them would seriously cross my mind. I suppose murdering your soulmate and sucking their blood when they don’t even know who you are would be considered bad form. 

I know that I should be running away. Snow has always been a powerhouse, but when he goes off, he’s nothing but power. Especially now, with even less than his usual self control (and I used to think that was impossible). He could burn me to ashes with no effort, and forget about it a second later. Any sane person would already be running. But I’m a Pitch, and Pitches don’t flee. And even if I weren’t a Pitch, I feel like I’ve been clobbered by the force of his magick and I was already so weak. 

I’ve always been so weak. 

I straighten my back and hold my head high, fighting the force of the magick and the scent of the blood and all the feelings I’ve tried so hard to deny, and I wait for Snow to come around the corner in all his golden glory.

I’m finally done running. 

**SIMON**

I round another corner, and he’s there, and I can’t help but smile. I finally know what I’ve been running after this whole time. 

**BAZ**

I can barely see his skin under the burning red and flaming gold. He’s breathing hard, barely holding it together, and the worst part is that he doesn’t even seem to _know_ that he’s about to go off. Because Bunce says that he doesn’t even know what magick is anymore, or that he has it, so he can’t possibly know what going off means. 

And, under all that consuming, fearsome, horrifying magick, he’s smiling. At me. 

**SIMON**

He approaches me slowly, hands held out like I’m an angry chimera. A _chimera_! How did I ever forget chimeras? 

“Snow,” he says, and I smile even more. He called me Snow. That makes me happy. I’m not even going to try and figure out why, because I’m happy, and I can’t remember ever being happy. “You’re looking rough and weedy, today.” _Rough and weedy. Rough and weedy._ There’s a voice in the back of my mind, and I tune it out. 

“Yeah,” I say, shrugging one shoulder. The other one hurts too much. 

“Did someone else push you down the stairs?” He asks with a casual smile. “I thought that was my move.” 

“No,” I say. _Why is he smiling about this?_ “No, I…” _Falling. Falling._ “I…” _His face, sneering, laughing…_

“Snow,” he repeats. The smile is wiped off his face. “I’m…sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” 

“It’s okay,” I say immediately, giving him my best smile. I barely remember what he said, anyway. All I know is that I want to be with him, and nothing could ever change that. 

“It’s not,” he says, riffling his hands through his hair. I watch it fall in smooth waves and think about how nice it would be to touch. “Nothing about this is okay. _You_ aren’t okay. Alister Crowley, Snow, you’re going off.” 

“Off what?” I’m nowhere near the stairs, so I couldn’t fall off the landing (hands outstretched, falling, steep, down the stairs, his face), and the window is far too narrow for me to fall off the windowsill. 

“Don’t you see what’s happening?” He suddenly shouts, throwing up his hands. “ _Look_ at yourself, Simon. You’re about to fucking explode. Don’t you realize that?” 

I look down, and that shimmery red stuff is still swirling around my body. The dry heat is sucking at me, and something smells like it’s burning. I think it’s me. 

**BAZ**

He looks up at me, eyes wide and horrified, magick swirling faster and faster over his golden (delicious) skin. 

“What’s happening?” He asks, in a tiny voice that a human wouldn’t have heard, especially over the roar of the magick. He shakes his hands, apparently trying to dislodge the redness dancing over them, but screams when his left shoulder moves. I think it might be dislocated. He takes a step backwards and nearly trips over his own feet. 

This is the most worked up I’ve ever seen him. In the very, very back of my mind, I feel a sick sort of pride at having caused it. But I’ll feel even better when I diffuse the bomb that is Simon Snow. 

The Magickal world doesn’t deserve this kind of power punch twice in a decade. _Simon_ doesn’t deserve to go off without knowing what going off is, not once. Definitely not twice.

I, however, do deserve to be caught in the middle. 

“ ** _Clean as a whistle_** ,” I cast at him. This will be hard enough, for both of us, without the temptation of the blood that’s covering Snow’s disheveled body. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, voice trembling. “What’s happening? Who are you?” I file away the fact that he (finally) has no idea who I am, as something to think about and probably cry over later. This will all be over soon. 

I take a step forwards (ignore the sick feeling spreading in my stomach), and another (ignore the way my legs have begun to buckle), and then I’m inside the storm. 

**SIMON**

The boy gets redder and blurrier with each step he takes. He’s got this look in his eyes, like he’s about to attack. I should be scared. But the closer he gets, the better I feel. When he puts his hand on my arm, it’s like ice on my burning skin. 

**BAZ**

Snow’s power flows through me in a completely impossible way. I feel like I could cast an idiom. I feel like I could fly. 

**SIMON**

His hand is on my arm. I have no idea how or when it got there. But it feels good. 

**BAZ**

His face is so close to mine. His _mouth_ is so close to mine. His neck is close to my mouth, too.

But his power flows through my veins, and for the first time I can remember, I don’t feel hungry.A strange calm falls over me, when I look into his eyes (far too trusting and completely blank of recognition) and realize that after everything we’ve been through, there’s no way I’m going to end it with the taste of his blood in my mouth. 

**SIMON**

The air around us is absolutely crackling with power. It’s like I’ve jammed a fork into a power outlet, and it’s flowing through my body and into his. The air is getting clearer, I can see his face more clearly now. His eyes are deep water grey, his teeth are long and bared, and he’s absolutely gorgeous. 

**BAZ**

I can only think of one spell that might work. It’s a mystical cure-all, one of the strongest phrases in existence. A powerful Mage (and right now, I’m channeling more power than the Mage and all his men put together) could use it to bring back the dead. 

Of course, if my intentions aren’t completely pure (unfortunately, they are), and if I’m not disgustingly in love (unfortunate again, but true), and if I don’t completely understand the history of the words and the exact angle to point my wand (I studied all of the old love spells the summer of fifth year, in the hopes that I could find one to take unwanted love away, I know everything), I could send out a pressure wave that would demolish the entire country, clear up to Wales. Never mind the fact that they’ve been categorized as Class One Forbidden Words for nearly two hundred years. 

Well, what would any rational person do?

**SIMON**

He points a stick at me. I resist the urge to flinch backwards, but turn my palms up. I’ve learned that it’s best to just go along with it. And, while that long pointy thing looks like it could really hurt, I’ve been hit by much worse. 

  
I just wonder what I did wrong. 

But he’s ignoring my outstretched hands, and pointing the stick straight at my eye. This time, I really do flinch backwards. 

Even if he _is_ going to poke my eye out, he looks so beautiful that I’ll use my last few moments of vision to stare at his flowing black hair, and his pale hollowed cheeks. Christ. Who knew a bloke could be so fit. 

He’s shouting something, but I can barely hear him over the rush of electricity and adrenaline (really, they’re almost the same thing). His (gorgeous) hair is flying back, blown by an invisible wind, and he’s holding onto my arm with almost bone crushing strength.

As soon as the wish crosses my mind, he comes closer. And I’m glad that, before he hits me with the stick or I forget about him completely, I get to feel this boy’s lips against mine. 

They’re so cold, and I’m so warm. 

**BAZ**

At least Snow’s kissing back. It makes this whole thing feels less rape-y. But I know I won’t be able to enjoy it, not until I know that Snow knows who he’s kissing. 

**SIMON**

I’m kissing Tyrone. 

**BAZ**

I have no idea how I’ll know if it works. I’ve heard things about a magickal force field (the good kind, hopefully), or a shimmer in the air, but the air is already so full of Snow’s magick that I couldn’t see any extra shimmer, even if I was able to keep my eyes open. 

**SIMON**

I’m kissing _Baz._

**BAZ**

My body is overriding my every command. I promised myself I wouldn’t enjoy this. What kind of monster would enjoy kissing a helpless amnesia victim? What kind of villain would enjoy kissing the hero? 

**SIMON**

I’m kissing Baz. My archnemesis, my roommate, my soulmate. 

**BAZ**

Snow’s started moving. He’s pushing me backwards, up against the wall, probably about to run me through for attacking him with my lips. And five minutes later, he won’t even remember doing it. 

Good. 

I’ve always known he’d be more upset than me, when it was finally time for him to put me out of my misery. May as well get it over with now. 

**SIMON**

I still remember who Baz is. I remember the first day I met Penny, and the first time I kissed Agatha, and how it didn’t even compare to this. I remember the Chimera, and I remember when Baz pushed me down the stairs, and I remember falling down the hill while I was chasing after him just an hour ago. 

His name is Tyrannous Basilton Grimm-Pitch. 

My name is Simon Snow. 

And I remember. 

**BAZ**

Just when I thought I couldn’t feel any worse, Snow starts crying. Honest to god blubbering, lips still pressed against mine, chest still pressed against mine, leaving me no room to get away. Am I that bad a kisser? Before, he said I was okay. I’m sure he’s forgotten all about that by now. 

I try not to be slightly miffed as I pull away.

**SIMON**

Baz pulls away, far too soon. I try to chase after his lips (it’s unfair, what a good kisser he is) (I’d never tell him, though, he’d get far too smug), but he’s straightened up to his full height, and the best I can do is lean my forehead against his chest. Tall git. 

**BAZ**

Snow’s leaning against my chest. His curls are close enough for me to smell (I don’t). His hand isn’t reaching for is blade, but there are tear stains sinking into my dry clean only silk shirt. Also, he’s backed me into practically the only sunny spot in the stairwell, and my eyes are already starting to burn. 

What does this all _mean?_

**SIMON**

When I open my eyes, I see the big wet tearstains soaking into Baz’s pretentious, sexy shirt. Mine, I’m guessing (no, I know. I remember crying. I _finally_ remember). That must be why he pulled away. I roll my eyes. Hasn’t he ever heard of happy crying? Then again, he’s a Pitch. I bet they have a rule against smiling. 

I remember seeing pictures of his bedroom at home, in a magazine in Penny’s house. No wonder the Pitches are so weird. They live in a crypt. 

**BAZ**

I think Snow’s unconscious. I think I killed him, and he had just enough time to cry about it before he died. 

Once I get him to the infirmary, I’ll to turn myself in for using Forbidden Magick. Hopefully, they’ll be able to save him. And without me around, maybe he’ll be able to live a normal life. I can cry later, alone in my cell. Or on the other side of the veil. 

**SIMON**

Baz shifts, his muscles rippling under my forehead (it feels surprisingly good). He’s trying to leave me behind. Like I’d let him go, after everything. After I’ve just got him back. 

**BAZ**

Snow’s arms tighten around my waist like a vice. I’m so shocked, I don’t even struggle. 

“So,” he says, raising his head like it’s almost too much effort. But his eyes are looking straight into mine, and they’re ordinary and blue and full of recognition. “Spell didn’t quite work for you, Baz?” 

**SIMON**

We’ve been kissing for a while now. I don’t know quite how long, but I remember when it started. When Baz’s eyes got all big and bright (I’ll tease him about that later, because I’ll remember it), and then narrowed into hard slits before he dove at me. And I crashed up to meet him. And it was _so good_. 

“We should go,” he says now, weaving his fingers through my hair. 

  
“No,” I say, tugging at his collar so he has to look down at me. My shoulder doesn’t hurt anymore. 

“We’re sworn enemies, remember?” He says in that taunting way of his, but I’ve been hearing him taunt me for years and his relief is as apparent as the crook where I broke his nose. “And now you don’t even know who I am. Even you can understand that it would be suspicious to see the two of us _cuddling_ in a stairwell.” 

“No,” I say again, pushing my head back into his hands so I can look him in the eye. “You gave me amnesia, at least stay with me while I’m recovering.” 

“Fuck off, Snow,” he says without any venom, and wraps his free arm tightly around my back. My left wrist burns, and I smile my first real smile in almost a month. “If anyone comes,” he says quietly, stroking my hair again. “I’ll push you off me, and you punch me in the mouth. That’ll account for any swollen lips.” 

“You romantic,” I say, laughing just a bit, and leaning my head back into his chest (almost going off seems to be just as exhausting as actually going off). And just for this moment moment, it’s so good just to remember that we’re in hiding. I almost don’t care that if I kiss Baz in front of anyone, and it gets back to the Mage or the Old Families, either he or I will die. 

  
Almost. 

“For you, Simon,” he says, sliding his hand around from my back to the left side of my chest. I know it’s equally to feel my heartbeat and to push me away. That doesn’t make it any less touching. “Only for you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh it was such a relief to finally write this chapter!!! Please, if you feel like it, let me know what you thought!! And I promise it's not over yet, so stick with me. This is about to transform from a Magickal Amnesia Angst Soulmates fic to a Magickal Hidden Relationship Angst Soulmates fic. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading. See you soon! ❤️


	9. Why We Hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon has acting skills. Agatha has doubts. Penny can't decide whether she's furious or thrilled. Baz is all of the above.

**PENNY**

I’ve been looking for Baz for nearly an hour now, taking the methodical approach I learned when Elspeth went missing. I helped comb the forrest for weeks, calling her name until my throat was horse. I don’t call out to Simon, because I’m not sure if he would recognize his name, but I look in every building, through every street, in every single classroom and cupboard and hidden passageway. I’ve made my way back and forth across nearly the entire campus, Agatha in tow (literally, I’ve got her by the sleeve. She wouldn’t dare rip her nice white dress) (at least it will be white again, once I’ve finished with it). I think she’ll rebel if I have to re-start from the top, but it’s nice to have her along. I’m sick of spending so much time alone.

At least, it’s nice to have her with me until we’re halfway through the White Chapel, and huge brown spider jumps onto Agatha’s arm. I’ve seen her stare down goblin soldiers and gut a _were_ chipmunk, but one little (well, gigantic and horrible) spider is too much for her. She shrieks so loudly that my ears start to ring and jumps backwards, pulling me over on top of her. Somehow, the spider gets stuck in my hair. I didn’t grow up in the tidiest of houses, and I’ve seen my fare share of spiders. But feelings its little legs on my scalp… I’m about to start screaming myself when I feel something completely different from the spider’s hairy legs. An overwhelming surge of power, smoky and electrifying. This has Simon written all over it. And it doesn’t matter if he can remember him or not, only one person can get Simon that upset.

My adrenaline kicks in, and I’m glad for the extra kick. I _have_ to find Simon before he goes off. I have to be there for him, whether he knows who I am or not. I cast a **_kill it with fire_** on the struggling spider, and then **_make a wish_** to put out the flames. At least Agatha and I learned how to regrow my hair last time Simon set it on fire. Or maybe I should just get a pixie cut. Less work.

I pull the charred spider out of my hair, yank Agatha to her feet, and run towards the stairs, towards Baz, towards _Simon_ (or whatever of him is left). But only two steps in, I’m jerked backwards when I reach the end of Agatha’s arm. She’s doubled over, retching, and I almost feel bad for not checking to see if she was alright. She’s always had a worse reaction to Simon’s magick than me. Thank Merlin they weren’t meant to be together. He’d drive her to insanity.

“Come on, Agatha,” I say, pulling at her sleeve, but not so hard that it tears.

“Not _now,_ Penelope,” she responds, pulling back, and retches again, almost collapsing to the ground. I sigh and step closer to her, letting her arm fall and patting her a few times on the back. Honestly, I’m not sure how far I could’ve gone if she hadn’t stopped me. My stomach feels like it’s imploding.

“We need to follow the magick while it’s still strong,” I say after a minute, even though I still feel like I’ve gone five rounds with a dragon. “It’s our only lead to Simon.”

“I thought we were looking for Baz?” Agatha asks, but she pushes herself up and stumbles for the door. So brave. We always have to be so brave.

“Same difference,” I say, following behind her for once, trying not to be swept away in the tidal wave of Simon’s magick.

**AGATHA**

The weeping tower. The _one_ building Penelope hasn’t manhandled me through. And of course, Baz isn’t in the dining hall, so we can’t stop for a bite. I’ve been walking for miles, and even though Simon’s magick stopped about half a minute ago, it felt like a wave of electricity sapping all of my energy. I’m absolutely famished.

Penny caught up to me a while ago, so she’s gone back to her charming habit of dragging me by the arm. But now she’s muttering too, which makes it twice as annoying.

“This isn’t good,” she says for at least the twenty fifth time. “He was going to go off. I know what it feels like when he’s going to go off. So why hasn’t he gone off?”

“Maybe he can’t, without his memory,” I say. “Maybe that memory spell interfered with his magick, too.”

Penny doesn’t respond. She doesn’t like to talk about Simon’s memory. She seems to think that if we ignore it, it’ll just resolve itself. All of the fight seems to have just gone out of her. I’ve never liked it when she gets over-invested in an issue (magickal politics, electronics at Watford, whether human possession is ethical), but that’s just who she _is._ And suddenly, it’s who she’s not.

Sometimes, I wonder if her memory’s been tampered with too. If I’ll be left alone with a amnesiac Chosen One and a shell of his best friend, and a probably vampire ready to kill them at a moment’s notice. I don’t know what I’d do.

So for now, I take a page from Simon’s playbook and just don’t think about it. I follow Penelope up the stairs. I focus on her skin touching mine, and it’s warm. At least she’s still warm.

**SIMON**

Baz tenses up, muscles bunching under my head and arms tightening around my back. Is this how intimacy works, or is he trying to crush me like a vampiric boa constrictor? At first, I squeeze him tighter, too. I haven’t had many hugs, or given many hugs, but this feels nice.

But then I hear the footsteps. Echoing in the stairwell, coming closer and closer. At least two people are on their way. I know that’s why he tensed up, but I’ll still pretend it was just a hug. Maybe, I’ll get him to give me another one later. A real, purposeful one. 

“Get ready, Snow,” He says tightly, eyes trained on the top of the staircase. There’s no time to run without looking suspicious. I’ll have to punch him.

“Do you really think a couple weeks of amnesia could make me forget how to punch?” I reluctantly unwrap my arms from around him. He’s always so cold, but under my arms, he was just starting to get warm. “Don’t forget how your nose got broken, Baz.”Someday, I’ll find out what hours of skin-on-skin contact with Baz would feel like. Hopefully, that day will come really, really soon. But today, he smiles when I say his name, and when I prove that I remember delivering that sickening, crunching punch to the bridge of his nose. And even though our moment is rapidly coming to an end, I’ll take it. I’d do anything to see a smile from Baz.

“Shut up, Simon,” he says, eyes all soft. “And make it convincing.”

I barely have time to get over him using my first name (my first name!) when his face morphs from a slightly dopy grin to an absolutely predatory snarl. I honestly don’t know which one is hotter. Then he pushes me away from him, with all that vampire strength of his, and it’s game on.

**BAZ**

I don’t know what I was expecting. For him to go easy on me, now that we’re soulmates or whatever? For his punch to feel like an angel’s kiss, even though it never has before?

For my sake, I’m going to pretend that I didn’t picture any of that in my minds eye. Because Snow’s punch is absolutely lethal (should I be proud of him?), and I’m tasting blood as my head slams against the wall with the force of a wrecking ball. I’ll honestly be surprised if the stones behind my head come away intact.

Then he looks down at his punching hand, and back up at me, and then slowly over his shoulder, where the audience for our little skit is standing in stunned silence. Bunce and Wellbelove. I should have known.

“Simon!” Penny gasps, hand flying to her mouth. She’s never liked it when we fight, always going on about how he needs to save his strength for the _real_ monsters (it’s almost reassuring how she’s never seen me as a monster). But then she turns on me, her eyes saying _how could you let him do this?_ And I realize why she’s taking such an issue with this particular altercation.

It’s not strictly forbidden to hit your soulmate, but it’s widely seen as the worst form of abuse. They say that punches from your soulmate hurt five times more, and that every time you hurt your soulmate, a part of your collective soul breaks off. And I’m sure Bunce has poured through all of the literature, trying to figure out how much damage Snow’s precious soul has sustained.

Whatever. It’s not like a have a soul, anyway. And despite the pounding in my head and the precious blood trickling down my face, I’m proud of him.

“Who’s Simon?” Snow asks, looking down at his hand and then back up at her. His eyes are wide and confused, and a jolt of fear runs down my spine like an electric shock. “Who are you?”

**SIMON**

I should go out for the Watford Drama club, if it ever gets reinstated (Penny went on an old yearbook kick in fifth year, I know everything about the history of Watford). Or maybe I’m just really good at playing dumb.

“Simon,” Agatha says, reaching out to touch me, but I jump backwards and make my eyes all wild, like I’m afraid of her. I could _never_ be afraid of Agatha _._

“Stay away!” I say, making a motion at my hip like I’m going to summon my blade. Now she’s the one who steps back. “Who are you?” I ask, adding a little bit of desperation to my voice, trying to sound like I did when Baz first suggested wiping my memory. I almost wish that I hadn’t gotten that particular memory back.

“I’m your friend,” she says. “Simon—“

“Who’s Simon?” I say, frustrated this time, like when the Mage is training me but won’t tell me anything I really need to know. “Is he Simon? Because if he is, just stop looking at me when you’re talking to him. Okay? Because my hand really hurts, and….” I give it a nice long pause, like when Penny’s quizzing me on an answer I don’t know. “What’s happening?” I say. “Who are you? Why does my hand hurt?”

I’m seriously considering dropping this whole Chosen One business and becoming an actor.

**BAZ**

He’s forgotten again.

Does he need to be touching me for True Love’s Kiss to work? Is there a time limit? Did I just bring him back for half and hour only for the curse to get worse? Will I ever be able to bring him back again?

I only just found him. He said my name, and it sounded like the most magickal word.

And now he’s gone.

I wonder if, because my nose is almost definitely broken (again), I could be excused just a couple of tears as I watch the boy I love wither back into a shell of himself.

“Snow,” I say, just in case hearing me say his name jolts something in his mind. Reminds him of who he is.

“No,” he says, turning back to face me, “It’s not. It’s all sunny.”

And then, the absolute tosser _winks._

**PENNY**

Something’s not right. Simon’s not acting like himself, or even like himself when he can’t even remember who he is. His sentences are choppy, his emotions change so quickly, he called for his sword and it didn’t come.

I didn’t think I could be more worried than I was this morning, but he’s not even acting like a shadow of himself anymore. It’s like someone’s taken over Simon’s body. This isn’t my best friend.

“Why don’t we take this into a classroom?” Baz asks, cool and collected as ever, blood streaming down his chin. “I’d hate for Snow to slaughter anyone wandering into the stairwell.”

I look back at Simon, and his sword is in his hand.

“Are you sure he’ll go?” Agatha asks. “How can you know that he won’t just…you know.”

  
“Kill us?” I supply.

But Simon’s already started walking, heading for the nearest classroom, sword held stiffly. He looks like an automaton who just learned how to walk. I’m afraid he’ll trip and fall on his sword, or something equally idiotic. But Baz is already following him, so I fall in line. Agatha grabs my arm.

“Penny,” she says, “are you sure this is a good idea? He has a sword.”

“If I can’t trust Simon,” I say, “I can’t trust anyone.”

But I’m not sure if Simon is really Simon anymore.

Dying by my amnesiac best friend’s hand. Not the way I thought I’d go out. But, I think as I grab Agatha’s hand (we seem to have progressed from the sleeve-holding stage) and pull her along, it is poetic. And we Mages have quite a thing for poems.

**AGATHA**

The classroom is so quiet I can hear the blood dripping off Baz’s chin and onto the floor. Simon’s staring straight ahead, unblinking, but his sword is in his hand and he could pounce at any moment. I try to subtly position myself in front of Penelope, so she can’t do anything stupid like jump in front of his sword if he tries to stab me, but she just yanks me backwards.

At least I tried.

I’m not sure if I could’ve done it, anyway. I was barely able to handle Simon trying to kill me the first time today. If it happens again, I might just break down completely.

Penny’s arm is rigid, and she’s staring Simon down like he’s a rabid flying monkey. There’s just so much staring going on. My eyes are flicking back and forth, from Simon to Penny to Baz, who’s the only one who doesn’t look like he’s been hit by **_still as a statue_**. He’s prowling up and down the aisles of desks, scanning the room (for what, I’m afraid to ask), and muttering spells under his breath. I can feel the power surging from his wand. He’s nearly as powerful as Simon, sometimes. It’s scary.

Penny still hasn’t moved, and neither has Simon. The tension in here is so thick, you could cut it with my wand. I’m terrified to move, to break the delicate _nobody is killing anyone_ balance we’ve somehow achieved. So I stand as still as I can, fighting the urge to fidget with my nearly ruined skirt, counting each breath and imagining a nice, quiet room with a gel manicure set and Gilmore Girls playing in the background (Minty introduced me. I love the idea of living in a small town with no magick, no wars, no magickal wars. Just friends, family, and boy problems).

I’m breathing in and out. In my mind, I’m painting my nails light pink, and I’m doing it by hand. No spells, no magick of any kind. No amnesiac ex just waiting for the right moment to kill me.

But also, no Penelope Bunce holding my hand.

**SIMON**

Man, it’s so hard to not blink. My eyes feel like they’ve been scraped raw with sandpaper, or maybe actual sand. I think Baz is taking way more time than he needs to, with his safety sweep of the classroom. He hasn’t looked at me once, but every time he turns his back on Penny and Agatha, he gets this sardonic little smile I just want to punch off his face. Or maybe kiss. At this moment, I don’t know which is more appealing.

At some point, hopefully, I’ll stop having violent thoughts whenever I look at my soulmate. But at least I know who he is.

**PENNY**

After what feels like an entire school year, Baz _finally_ stops pacing. He hasn’t looked at Simon once, this entire time. I wonder if it’s true, if Simon just burned up a part of his soul by punching Baz in the face. If that’s why his stare is so vacant, why he doesn’t seem like my best friend at all anymore. All the times he’s punched his soulmate over the years…he might not have any soul left at all.

Every bone in my body crying out to cast some devastating curse at Simon ( _Simon._ My best friend in the world) and run. But Agatha’s holding onto my ring hand, and even if he’s completely gone, that’s still his body. There’s still a light, somewhere deep in his eyes, and a tear running down his cheek.

I should have saved him earlier. I should have made Baz reverse the spell, before it was too late. I should have…

“You can move,” Baz snaps, like he’s already told us a hundred times. “It’s safe.”

Simon immediately brings his sword down in a devastating arc (I should know. I’ve seen him take out entire legions with a few strokes just like that). I yank on Agatha’s wrist, pulling her even further behind me. I’m not going to be attacking Simon, so I’m letting my protective instincts take over. I need to do _something._

“Penny,” she whines, but I ignore her. I’m focused on the blade, which I’m absolutely sure will be penetrating my ribcage at any moment. I look up into his eyes again, looking for any spark of recognition before he skewers me like a cheap kabob.

“So,” he says, “How should we play this?” He takes a casual step forwards, and I involuntarily jerk back, holding out a hand in what I hope is a commanding and protective gesture. But I probably just look like I’m about to give the weakest ever high five.

“Simon,” I say, in my best _I’m not afraid of you_ voice. But this is my best friend. I can’t fight him, I could never hurt him. And I couldn’t let Baz hurt him for me, either, not now. Not when I know about…everything. I’ve fought alongside Simon for seven years, and I know that if he decides to attack this strange girl holding her hand out to him, I’ll be dead. “Please,” I continue, “you don’t want to do this.”

“Do what?” He asks, forehead wrinkling. Like it does—used to—when he was trying to figure out a new spell. I take a deep breath, try to control my emotions. If I see the old Simon in this new person, I’ll go insane.

“My name is Penelope Bunce,” I say, “You call me Penny. I’m your best friend, or at least I was. And I…don’t want to die.”

  
I’d really hoped to sound more badass, more fearless. But I’m more scared than I’ve been in my entire life. I grip Agatha’s hand so tightly that she hisses in pain.

“Are you okay, Penny? Is there something I should be fighting?” Simon springs into his battle stance, raising his sword again. Agatha pulls me back with a short, cut-off yelp, nearly knocking me over.

“Snow, you idiot,” Baz says, and I can almost hear his eyes rolling. But, in battle, you don’t look away from the enemy. So I don’t look away from what used to be Simon. “ _You’re_ the threat.”

“Oh,” he says, looking down at the blade in his hand like he forgot it was there. Which, honestly, I should have realized before. “Oh, yeah. Right.” He twists his hand (not even by his hip. How is he _doing_ this?) and the Sword of Mages melts away into thin air. “Sorry, guys.” He looks back up at me, but I don’t look into his eyes. I can’t make myself stare into the blankness, the lack of recognition, the soul that used to be my best friend. “So, anyway,” He continues, “I really need your help. How should we play this? Like, do I know who you are or not? And you,” he turns to look at Baz. “Do I still hate you?”

“I don’t know,” Baz says, but it isn’t sarcastic. He sounds _thoughtful._ Like Simon is actually making sense. I didn’t expect this from Baz, and it honestly throws me. “What do you think, Bunce?” Baz asks me, but I have no idea what the question was.

“Simon,” Agatha says, taking a step forwards, hand gently slipping out of mine. I’m left clutching thin air, completely unmoored, alone. I’m usually so good at figuring things out. “What’s my name?”

“Agatha,” he says, squinting at her like _she’s_ the one who’s acting weird. “Agatha Wellbelove.”

“And what’s his name?” She continues, pointing vaguely in Baz’s direction, voice shaking like a tin roof in a typhoon. What is she doing?

“Which one?” Simon asks, lips quirking up just a bit.

“All of them.” Something’s beginning to dawn on me. Something big. So huge, my brain feels like it’s been turned to molasses just from trying to figure it out. I didn’t have this problem when I found out that Simon and Baz are soulmates, because that made _sense._ I could find evidence, I could rationalize. But Baz put that curse on Simon to protect him, and we agreed that we couldn’t break it yet. And then we realized that we had no idea _how_ to break the curse.

Baz still has hope. He thinks he’ll be able to figure out the perfect solution, something that’ll keep Simon sane keep the Mage from turning Murderer. I haven’t told him, yet, that I’ve completely given up ever seeing my best friend again for more than five seconds at a time. But he’s smiling, and he knew Agatha’s name, and…

“Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch,” he says. “Unless there’s a secret name he’s been hiding for all these years.”

“Oh, Morgana.” Agatha turns whiter than her dress (which isn’t hard, because her dress is covered with grass stains and streaks of dirt).

“How did you know that?” I say, and when the words come out, they’re angry. And then I realize _I’m_ angry. “Baz, if you told him to say that, if he’s going to forget in five seconds, I swear to Stevie Nicks…”

“What are you _talking_ about, Bunce?” Baz asks, raising that one stupid eyebrow up to his stupid hairline. Finally, I understand what Simon found so appealing about smacking him around.

“Oh my god!” Simon says, suddenly. “Penny, I’m so sorry!” The he turns to Baz. “Baz, we forgot to tell them.”

“Ah,” Baz says, shrugging. “Well, I suppose that would explain the histrionics.”

“What histrionics?” I shout. Maybe I am a bit hysterical. Merlin, I hate myself for showing all this emotion in front of Baz. He’ll find all my weaknesses, and the he can take me down whenever he wants. If he even wants to anymore. When did everything become so confusing?

“Penny,” Simon says gently. And I wish he would stop using that name, because he doesn’t have the right. He’s not who he used to be. He can’t just tear out my heart like this. “Penny, Agatha, I got my memory back. I remember everything.”

At last, everything slips into place. The gears in my head start turning. And out of the millions ofhows and whens and the millions of ways I want to say how happy I am that Simon’s back (Simon’s back!), one thought rises to the front of my mind.

That _idiot_.

**AGATHA**

I don’t know what to do. Simon remembers me, and I couldn’t be happier. But what do you say to someone who just got his memory back after nearly a month? What do you say to your ex-boyfriend who just remembered every fucked up thing you’ve ever done to him?

“Baz,” Penny says, rounding on him, ignoring Simon standing just in front of her. “What were you _thinking?_ ”

Well, I guess that’s one way to go about it.

Simon smiles sheepishly at me, shrugging his shoulders. I smile back. I hope my lips aren’t trembling.

“Sorry I tried to kill you earlier,” he says. At least he acknowledged it.

“I’m just glad you’re back,” I tell him, but I don’t accept his apology. It’s a lot to get over. My psycho ex, trying to kill me in the least stereotypical of situations.

“…go off,” Baz says.

“There's no way to stop him from going off,” Penny snaps. “I should know, I’ve tried everything.”

“Well, I certainly hope you couldn’t use this method,” Baz retorts. It’s like watching a high speed tennis match when they get into an argument. It scares me, but Simon is watching them with a huge smile on his face. Maybe just remembering the previous sentence is what’s making him so happy.

“Baz used—” Simon starts, but Baz reaches out and cups (not slaps, gently cups. It’s so weird) a hand over Simon’s mouth.

“Not here, Snow,” he says quietly. “It was dangerous enough to say it once.”

“Wow, Baz. What did you use?” Penny looks impressed. She’d try every forbidden spell, just to see if she could cast them, if I weren’t here to stop her. I caught her practicing _ixnay_ s one time, in an abandoned classroom, and I had to make her swear on Stevie Nicks that she wouldn’t do something stupid like that again.

“Think Snow White,” Baz says. “Sleeping Beauty. Sailor Moon.”

“Sailor Moon?” Simon asks incredulously, though Baz’s fingers. Baz glares at him, but it isn’t quite as intense as usual. This entire thing is so weird.

“You _didn’t_.” Penny’s figured out what Baz means. Her mind has always worked faster than mine, but I’ve watched everything Baz just named. I know I’ll figure it out eventually, once I stop staring at Simon, who seems to be.. _licking Baz’s fingers?_

I am no looking anywhere but at Simon.

Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, Sailor Moon…Merlin. Not even Baz could be that stupid.

“You could go to prison, Basilton!” I say. “Not to mention that you’ll probably die within the next week. Even under perfect conditions, that spell only works for…” and then I look at Simon again. He has his arm around Baz’s waist so casually, I’m not sure he even realizes he’s doing it. He’s smiling a tiny smile, one he never got around me. And Baz is smiling too. And their wrists…

“Only works for what?” Simon asks.

“Nothing,” I say. “Nothing.”

**SIMON**

Penny’s spent a lot of time ignoring me, since I got my memory back. But now that she’s thoroughly chewed Baz out, she throws herself at me in less of a hug and more of a football tackle. I can’t believe I ever forgot about Penny.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” she snaps, hugging me even tighter.

“I promise,” I say, prying her away before she cracks my ribs and Baz has to **_True Love’s Kiss_** me again to heal them. She has tears in her eyes. I probably do, too. But this isn’t the right time. At least one person in this room is endangering their life just by standing in here with me, now that I can remember everything. We need to make a plan. Fast.

“So, anyway,” I say as casually as possible, turning to the room at large. Baz is glaring at me, blood caked on his chin. His eyes say _you absolute moron_ and _I love you_ in equal measure, and you know what? I’ll absolutely take it. “What should I do now? Should I pretend I don’t remember you guys, and that I hate Baz? I mean, did you believe it when I punched him on the landing and pretended not to remember you?”

“Absolutely,” Agatha says. “It was awful.”Penny pats her on the upper arm, but only briefly.This is time for strategizing, not emotions. If it were the time for emotions, I’d probably be crying in either Penny or Baz’s arms right now, and Agatha would definitely be a lot angrier at me for almost killing her today. Twice.

“The question is, would it fool the Mage?” Baz combs his fingers through his hair. I want them to be my fingers in his hair instead, or his fingers in mine. “I’ll admit you had me tricked for a moment there, Snow. And lying to your soulmate is supposed to be pretty much impossible.”

I don’t know what makes me happier. My amazing acting skills, or that Baz just said the “s” word out loud.

“The Mage is pretty perceptive,” Agatha says quietly. I wait for her to add something else, but that seems to be it. I hope she’s okay.

“Actually,” Penny says, “I was trying to find Baz because of something Premal told me. The Mage is planning something huge, but I think I might know how to stop it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I know it's been a really long time, so thanks for hanging in with me. I really hope this chapter was worth the wait! Please, comment and/or kudos if you feel like it, I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it. Thank you for reading!!!


	10. Bring On the Real World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An extra-dramatic staged confrontation in front of the entire school is the plan for revealing Simon's memory gain and his ongoing "hatred" for Baz. However, even in a mock fight, things can still go too far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thank you all for bearing with me through this ridiculously long hiatus. I guess I just ran out of steam or something. But I'm back now! Mainly because of the fantastic encouragement of tumblr/Ao3 user DearLazerBunny, who I "hired" to force me to write and who has done so much more. Thank you so much for everything 💙💙

**PENNY**

“Snow,” Baz drawls (there’s really no other word for it). He’s leaning across our table like a lawyer in a bad procedural, hands planted and hair slicked back. If I didn’t already know he’d make a good barrister, I’d be thinking it now. 

“Baz,” Simon says loudly, and a ripple of gasps goes out around the dining hall. 

“I thought he didn’t know who Baz was,” someone hisses. I think it’s Gareth, but I’m keeping my eyes on Baz. Because I have to look like I don’t trust him ( _ do  _ I trust him?) and when I don’t trust someone, I keep my eye on them. Simon always asks me why I stare at the Mage. 

“I thought he didn’t remember  _ anything _ ,” someone else says, in the kind of awed voice I usually associate with a plot twist in an especially good novel. 

“Is it true that you cast  **_Forget Your Fear and Want No More_ ** on  _ yourself _ ?” Baz asks, eyebrow raised and sneer firmly in place. I  _ made _ this plan, and I’m almost taken in. He looks like he’s about to eat Simon alive. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s lovely to have proof that I terrify you. But what  _ will  _ the World of Mages say when they learn that the Chosen One is afraid of his own last name? I dread to think of the headlines.” 

Simon looks away, at the ground. Only Agatha, Baz, and I can see him biting his cheek to keep from smiling. We left an empty ten feet in either direction, just in case. 

“The next time you try to cast a bravery spell, you should ask for help. If memory serves me, the first year students just finished learning how to hold their wands. They might give you some pointers, if you’re polite.” 

“Screw you, Baz.” Simon snaps his head up, almost hitting Baz in the nose.

“Wonderful insult, Snow. It must’ve taken you quite a while to come up with that one. Is that why you’ve been hiding for the last few weeks?” 

“I had  _ amnesia _ .” Simon slams his hands down on the table, leaning in closer to Baz. His eyes flick to Baz’s lips for just a second, and I pinch him hard on the leg. Tears spring to his eyes. Hopefully, they look like angry tears. 

“Really? I didn’t notice any difference. Maybe you should make an effort to look less gormless in your everyday life.” Baz is really laying it on thick. His eyes are hard and narrowed, and his voice is as sharp as his bared teeth. Which, considering he’s a vampire, is really saying something. 

Simon huffs, tugs at his hair, and snaps back, “I’d take amnesia over remembering you any day.” 

Another round of gasps from the onlookers, but the four of us all know that Simon’s gone just a step too far. Baz’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly, and Simon’s widen like a spooked horse. For the first time, I’m grateful for the veil of magick that springs up whenever he gets emotional. Agatha says it’s like his own personal mood lighting. Right now, it’s a dark stormy red. 

“Simon’s recovering,” I tell Baz as angrily as I can, but I actually feel kind of bad for him. It was hard enough when Simon didn’t know me. It would be so much worse if he actively hated me. “Would it kill you to leave him alone for once?” 

“I left him alone for three weeks,” Baz shoots back. There’s an edge in his voice that wasn’t there before. It doesn’t take a lot of acting (thank Merlin, I’m not BAFTA material) to look scared. 

“Come along, Simon,” Agatha says imperiously, rising to her feet and straightening her newly re-whitened dress. She looks like she’s about to dance in Swan Lake. “You don’t need to talk to  _ him _ .” 

“But…” Simon starts, staring beseechingly at Baz. I step on his foot, hard. We all know this confrontation was supposed to go on a bit longer, to really drive home the point that Simon has his memory back and he still hates Baz, but enough is enough.

“Come _ on. _ ” Agatha grabs Simon’s arm, just like I grabbed her two days ago, and pulls him towards the door. I can tell that it’s taking everything in him not to wheel around and apologize to Baz in the middle of the great hall. 

“I can’t eat while I’m looking at you,” I tell him, gently hitting his shoe with mine to show I don’t mean it. Hopefully, if anyone sees, it’ll look like I tried to kick him in the shin. “Just go back to your table, Basilton.” 

He turns and walks straight out of the Great Hall, and I’m left on my own. 

Wonderful. 

**SIMON**

Agatha drops my hand the second we’re out of view of the main hall, and I swear I see her brush it off on her skirt as she steps away from me. I guess I’ll have to make a better apology than  _ sorry I tried to kill you multiple times after I forgot who you were because I was trying to hide that I’m in love with my sworn enemy  _ at some point. Maybe Penny will help me with the wording, or even Baz. It was partially his fault, after all. 

Speaking of Baz and apologies; I have to give him a really, really good one after what I just said. The look in his eyes…I never meant for it to go so far. I was just trying to say what pre-soulmark Simon would’ve said, and I guess I never realized what a major dick I was. Sure, Baz was pretty awful to me, too. But he was finely crafted retorts and subtext, and I’m sure that like fifty percent of his worst insults went straight over my head. The sneering hurt, but the rest was just kind of confusing and depressing. 

I’m just starting to realize that I was  _ brutal _ . I’ve always been good at figuring out an opponent’s weakness, and even though I didn’t exactly know that Baz’s weakness was me (I still get a huge swarm of flutterbyes in my stomach when I think about it), I definitely exploited it. God, I used to talk about Agatha  _ so much _ , when I thought he wanted to date her. It must’ve been devastating. 

I wish I could flip some kind of switch and suddenly be nice to Baz all the time, even when we’re having these big staged arguments. I mean, yeah, he could be nicer to me too. But I was prepared for everything he said. It’s like a formula by now: he’ll attack my magickal skills, I’ll fail miserably at defending myself, he’ll make fun of my speaking skills, I’ll make some dumb retort. 

Except this time, my dumb retort was way too good. He looked at me like I’d put a stake through his heart (would that even work?) (Not that I want to kill him anymore.) (Obviously). I’m glad Penny and Agatha got me out of there before I apologized or kissed him or something dumb like that. I hope he understands that I didn’t  _ want  _ to leave him. 

God. We’ve been together for less than a day, and he’s going to break up with me. 

I hear him coming before I see him (I guess you start to automatically recognize someone’s follow someone’s footsteps after following them around in the dark for a year), so I’m looking at the door when he comes stalking out of the great hall, hair all slicked back and scowl frozen on his lips. He looks gorgeous. 

“Baz—” I start, but he holds up his hand. 

“Crowley, Snow, can’t you leave me alone for five minutes?” 

“Oh,” I say, biting my lip and looking down, so I don’t have to see that scowl aimed at me. “Okay.” 

“I’m going up to my room,” he says.  _ Our room _ , I think, but I don’t correct him. I think I’ve done enough talking for today. So I just nod. Merlin, I’ve ruined everything. 

“Don’t follow me,” he says.

“I won’t,” I say. Then, just in case anyone’s watching, “Because I don’t want to be in the same room as you.” 

Baz sighs loudly. Probably because my insult was so incredibly pathetic. 

“I  _ said _ ,” he walks over to stand directly in front of me. I can see my face in his stupidly polished shoes. I’m almost glowing with magick. “ _ Don’t follow me _ .” 

“And I said I won’t!” Okay, this is beginning to get annoying. If he doesn’t want to be near me (and Crowley, doesn’t that hurt when all I want is to be near him), then he should spare me a lot of heartache and just go. Is this payback for what I said to him? It seems a bit overkill. It was a spur of the moment thing, and I was only pretending. He’s already repeated this twice, and he’s not. 

“Maybe you’ve forgotten,” he says, so close that I can feel his breath on my ear. I could just turn my head and kiss him. I won’t. “You live to annoy me, and I’d be very  _ annoyed  _ if you came up to our room with me.” 

Baz says  _ annoyed  _ like he means something else, and it’s really weird. He never did this before. 

Oh. Wait. 

I’m an idiot. 

“You’re just saying this as an excuse to punch me,” I grumble, but I head towards the stairs. I catch a glimpse of Baz’s face, out of the corner of my eye. For just a second, there’s a little smile on his lips before he twists them into a sneer. 

I wait until we’re halfway up the stairs in Mummer’s House before I let myself smile, too. 

**BAZ**

“I’m sorry!” He blurts the second the door closes. “I’m so sorry.” 

He’s glowing dark red, practically pulsating with energy. I didn’t close the door, and I’ve never heard of  **_I’m sorry_ ** being a door-closing spell (or any kind of spell, for that matter). If I were anyone else, even Bunce, I might be scared. 

Instead, I pull myself to my full height and curl my lip. I don’t imitate my Father’s most intimidating expression often, but this seems to be an appropriate occasion. 

“You crossed a line,” I say, and I’m relieved when my voice doesn’t shake. I think that if I weren’t so angry, I might cry. 

_ I’d take amnesia over remembering you any day _ . Not exactly what you want to hear from your soulmate. The worst part is, even if he doesn’t mean it (I suppose I can’t rule that possibility out), I know that Father would, and the Mage, and probably my mother. 

I’ve casually imagined all of them saying something similar, alone in the catacombs, when I’m really in a mood to feel pain. But now, I don’t have to imagine Simon Snow telling me that he wants to forget that I exist. 

I understand where he’s coming from (where they’re all coming from), of course. I’m a gay Grimm-Pitch, and a vampire.  _ I’d  _ like to forget me. 

“I didn’t mean to,” he says, ending his sentence with a preposition. I could tear him apart for that, if I wanted. 

“People usually don’t mean to say what they’re actually thinking,” I say, proving my own point. 

“Baz, I didn’t think—” He starts, eyes wide and voice trembling like mine would be, if I let it. 

“It’s alright, Snow,” I say, looking away from his teary plain blue eyes. I thought everything would be better, once he remembered. I thought I could be alright with him hating me again, as long as he remembered who I was. “You didn’t think. You never think.” 

“I was pretending,” he says, just a bit of anger creeping into his voice. We’re back on familiar territory, slinging insults and defending ourselves from each other. I hate myself even more when I realize that I’m relieved. “I didn’t mean it.” 

I so want to believe him.

“I’m going down to the catacombs,” I say, pulling an imaginary crease out of my sleeve. “Tell Bunce that she can conduct her meeting in my absence.”

I turn to the door, but he’s blocking my exit. I have no idea when he crossed the room, and I always know exactly where he is. I’m way off my game. 

“Why did you ask me up here?” He asks, chin up and arms crossed. I’m not getting past him without some kind of fight. Merlin, I’m just so tired. 

_ I wanted to make up. I needed proof you didn’t hate me. I just wanted to be with you.  _ “Ask you up here? I seem to remember telling you  _ multiple  _ times that I didn’t want to be followed. Perhaps you should take a course on conversational cues. Maybe you can ask your goatherd. I think she talked to another person once.” 

At this point, I’m expecting him to punch me, Anathema or no. I’ve insulted him. I’ve insulted his goatherd friend. I don’t know what I’ll do if he keeps me talking, maybe take a stab at Bunce or The Mage. At this point, if he were to break the Anathema, I’d stand up for him in the Court of Mages. It wouldn’t be his fault. 

“You asked me to come up here,” he says stubbornly. 

“Let me  _ out _ , Snow.” I take a step forward. He takes a step forward too, and gently wraps his hand around my wrist. My left wrist. 

“I don’t want to fight, Baz,” he says, breath hitting my skin and making my hairs rise on end. 

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have said that you’d rather forget yourself than remember me.” I could break his arm so easily. One flick of my wrist, and I could be out of Watford forever. 

“Jesus Christ, Baz, I didn’t  _ mean  _ it! I was just trying to make it believable.” 

“That’s exactly it, Snow. This didn’t come out of nowhere. Last year, you would’ve said that and meant it.” I gently—so gently—pry his fingers from my wrist. I try not to think about the snap his bone would make if I tugged too hard. “Just…let me go.” 

“I never would have meant it,” he says, grabbing onto my wrist with his other hand. I’m dangerously close to doing…something. Something bad. “You know what it’s like, trying to convince yourself you hate someone. It’s like…like when you pretend that everything good in your life isn’t real, so it doesn’t hurt as much when it’s taken away. Did you know I don’t let myself think about Watford over the summer? Or Penny, or Agatha, or the Mage. But I can’t not think about you. You’re the only magickal thing in my real life. I always remember you, okay? Even when I make myself forget everything else, I remember you.”

“You only thought about me because you hated me.” My voice finally breaks. He grips my wrist even tighter. 

“No, I thought about you because I  _ thought  _ I hated you.” He’s smiling now, the kind of soft smile he usually saves for Bunce or a goat. 

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I say. I’ve never said that out loud in my life. Pitches don’t doubt themselves. Father would never talk to me again. Fiona would disinherit me. 

“You can,” he says, tugging on my wrist. I let myself slump forward, into him. He’s like a furnace, and I’m a block of ice. “I’ll help you. I love you.”

“Isn’t that a fifth date kind of phrase?” He can’t see me raising an eyebrow, so I don’t bother. He laughs and locks his arms behind my back. I lean into him even more—will the Anathema kick in if I knock him over?—and close my eyes. I haven’t slept for more than four hours a night in over a month. I don’t know if I can anymore, without him breathing in the next bed over. 

“We have some time before Magickal Words,” he says in my ear, “and Penny’s meeting isn’t until six. Let’s get some rest, okay?” 

I’m not even surprised that he knows I’m tired. We’ve been reading each others’ moods for so long, it’s not that big of a leap from antagonizing to soothing. He gently leads me to my bed, where we first decided to wipe his memory. I don’t protest, like I should. I don’t shake him off or run away to the catacombs. I haven’t fed in almost a day, and I’m not sure if I trust myself in the same room as him, not to mention the same bed. If I can’t control my temper, how can I control my hunger? 

But he’s so warm, and he loves me, and we stayed up all night coming up with this plan. I haven’t slept in a bed in so long. 

“Close the window,” I say, with as much bite as I can. He doesn’t even get off the bed, just smiles and tucks his head under my chin. 

“Shut up,” he says, “and go to sleep. I’ll keep you warm.” 

I want to argue, but maybe I should save my insults for when we have an audience. Besides, I can already feel myself starting to drift off. Snow sighs softly, and for the first time in months, I don’t try to fight my oncoming unconsciousness. 

This time, when I wake up, he’ll know who I am. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!! I would so so appreciate a comment or kudos, and also want to send out a thank you to everyone who's left feedback of any kind on previous chapters. It's really given me a will to write. 
> 
> Love you all! Stay safe out there. It may be a few weeks, but I can promise that another chapter is coming :) 💙


	11. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Simon has his memory back, he and his friends (if Baz counts as a friend) need to come up with a plan to keep the World of Mages from going to war. Unfortunately for Agatha, that plan involves her. And Simon. Pretending to be in a relationship, again. Fantastic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, so many thanks to the amazing dearlazerbunny (on Tumblr) without whom this chapter probably wouldn't have been written.

**AGATHA**

Penelope calls this a  _ strategic assembly _ , but it’s really just four people with complicated histories shoved into a room for no clear purpose. So far there hasn’t been much  _ assembling  _ or  _ strategy _ , just Penny and Baz fighting over the dry erase markers and the whiteboard that Penny stole from one of the classrooms (she says she borrowed it, but I have a hard time believing she’d voluntarily part with a whiteboard). In the past fifteen minutes, she and Baz have drawn five complicated looking diagrams and written what I swear are the complete lyrics of Josh Turner’s “Soulmate.” 

Don’t ask me how I know all of the lyrics to Josh Turner’s “Soulmate.” 

Anyway, Penny and Baz are leaning across each other to erase and underline (I feel like Simon or I should be trying to protect Penny. Baz’s mouth is inches away from her neck) and Simon is staring blankly at Baz, chewing mindlessly on a scone. I’m honestly not sure which one of us is less aware of what’s going on, Simon or me. At least he  _ wants  _ to be here. Penny found me hiding in a closet like a scared kid who doesn’t want to go to school, and dragged me to Simon’s (Simon’s and Baz’s) room by the strap on my satchel. 

If she decides to hold another one of these meetings, I think I might get myself thrown out of Watford. 

“I’m leaving,” I say, as I slide off my uncomfortable perch on the edge of Simon’s desk. No way in hell I’m sitting on Simon’s bed, or Baz’s, and Penny already took the only chair in the entire room. 

“No, you’re not.” Penny’s arm shoots out, still holding a red whiteboard marker and effectively clotheslines me across the throat. I nearly choke. 

“Yes, I am.” I push her arm aside. “I don’t know what’s going on, and I have homework. You can keep going without me.” 

“It’s all right here,” Penny says, grabbing my shoulder and using it to pivot me towards the whiteboard. If she rips my blouse, I’m going to scream. She’s pointing exasperatedly to a dry erase picture of what appears to be a dried up riverbed. “Nicks and Slick, Agatha. Were you even paying attention?” 

“There was nothing to pay attention  _ to! _ ” I say, shaking her hand off again. I’m starting to get irritated ( _ more  _ irritated). “You and Baz have fun with your stolen whiteboard, Penelope. I’m going to go do my homework.” 

“No, you aren’t,” Penny says again, pushing me backwards until my legs hit the edge of the bed and my knees buckle. Merlin, I’m sitting on  _ Baz’s  _ bed.

“What would you like us to explain?” Baz asks. I wish he were more patronizing. It would be a lot easier to be angry with him if he were acting like a pretentious rich asshole. 

“ _ Everything _ ,” I say, smoothing out my skirt so I don’t have to look up. 

“Um, yeah,” Simon says absently. “What she said.” I wish it were easier to stay angry with him, too. 

Penny sighs like we’re particularly clueless First Years and she’s stuck teaching us basic spellwork. Baz rolls his eyes and runs his hand through his hair, and I swear I hear Simon moan. 

I remember when Baz running his hand through his hair used to do that to me.

“The Mage told Simon that he’ll kill Baz if Simon is romantically interested in him,” Penny says, with barely veiled annoyance. Not even a hitch in her voice when she says  _ romantically  _ or  _ kill _ . I don’t think I’d be able to manage that. “And Premal told me that the Mage will kill Baz if he cast the memory spell on Simon.” 

“Which he did,” I say. 

“Yeah, but the Mage doesn’t know that.” Simon sucks some butter off his finger. Sometimes, I look at him and it’s hard to believe that he’s the prophesied Great Mage. It’s also hard to believe we ever dated. 

“Even if the Mage never finds out,” Baz continues, “He’s planning on using Snow to start the war. If that happens, I’ll go fight alongside the families and they’ll expect me to kill Snow.” 

He doesn’t even mention the possibility that he might fight on our side. How does Penny trust him? How does  _ Simon?  _

“So we need a way to keep Simon from fighting, and to throw off any suspicion that Simon and Baz are dating,” Penny says. I’m shocked by how quickly she’s accepted that Simon and Baz are soulmates. I still have a hard time remembering that they aren’t actively trying to kill each other. 

“Snow needs to a reason not to fight,” Baz says. “Something tying him down.” 

“He needs to be in a relationship,” Penny says. “A very public one.” 

“With someone well-born, but not from the Families,” Baz says, sitting down on the opposite end of his bed from me and crossing one leg over the other. He seems to be very pointedly  _ not  _ looking at Simon. “Someone with enough influence to relax tensions between the two sides. Someone who isn’t a complete moron.” 

“It needs to be a believable relationship.” 

“But the other person needs to know it’s not real,” Baz adds quickly.

“Basically, Simon needs to be in a believable but fake relationship with a well-born, diplomatic, intellectual person who’s in on the plan.” 

“That’s…very specific,” I say, because I can’t think of anything else. I’d hate to burst Penny’s bubble by telling her that she’ll never find that well-born intellectual diplomat.

“Sounds impossible,” Simon says for me, though a mouthful of crumbs. He’s always been so tactless.  _ You look awful, Agatha _ , he said once after he’d kept me up all night running from a pack of werewolves. We were  _ dating,  _ and he said that I looked awful. I have no idea how he’s going to lie well enough to fool the entire school.

“ _ You’re  _ impossible,” Baz says, lifting his lip into a sneer, but his eyes are softer than I’ve ever seen them.

After we found out that Simon had his memories back, I pulled Penny aside and said that we should just go to the Mage. Tell him exactly what happened, and let him tell us what to do next. But she pointed across the classroom, to where Baz and Simon were leaning against each other and kind of swaying, almost dancing. I think it was the first time I’d ever seen Baz smile.

I may not like Baz, or trust him. But that doesn’t mean I want to kill him. 

“We’ve already found someone,” Penny says.

I’m about to ask who it is when I realize that Baz is staring at me, so intensely that I wish I had a cross like Simon’s. Then I notice that Penny’s staring at me, too. Her eyebrows are raised and her arms are crossed. She looks like she’s waiting for me to figure out the answer to a very simple question. 

A well-born person, who knows that the relationship is fake and isn’t a complete moron.

Fuck. 

“No,” I say, even though I know right now that Penny won’t let up until I agree with her. “Absolutely not.” 

“What?” Simon asks. Baz rolls his eyes and inclines his head towards me, and Simon’s eyes go wide.

“Agatha?” He asks, almost like he hopes he’s got it all wrong. You and me both, Simon. 

“It’s perfect,” Penny says. “People get back together with their exes all the time.” 

“Tell that to Micah,” I snap. Penny narrows her eyes and bites her lip, hopefully not too hard. She shouldn’t draw blood in the same room as a vampire. 

“That was a completely different situation,” she says, far too calmly. “This will be fake.” 

“Simon’s gay!” 

“No, I’m not,” he says. Baz raises an eyebrow. “Oh, shove off, Baz.” 

“Are you saying you’d be okay with this?” I ask Simon, waving my hand in the general vicinity of the whiteboard. 

“I mean, if it helps,” he says, shrugging. I should’ve known better than to expect help from Simon. He’ll do anything Penelope says, and the same probably goes for Baz. Nobody cares about what I have to say.

“You’d be saving Baz’s life,” Penny says. Her gaze is even more piercing the Baz’s. 

“Not to mention the entire world of Mages,” Baz puts in. Merlin, I  _ want  _ to hate him. I want to hate them all. 

“Fine,” I say. “Fine.” 

All I ever wanted was a normal life. 

**SIMON**

“What should their soul words be?” Penny is asking Baz. “Fake soul words,” she adds impatiently when he narrows his eyes. “Honestly, Basil. This was your idea.” 

It was Baz’s idea to have me and Agatha pretend to be in a relationship? I don’t know how I feel about that. Agatha hates it, obviously. She’s been avoiding me (well, as much as she can avoid me in a one bedroom dorm) ever since Baz and Penny laid out the plan. It’s been maybe twenty minutes, and she hasn’t once looked in my direction. So she hates it, but I’m still not sure how I feel. 

Sure, I was okay with pretending that I hate Baz. I’ve done it for years. But if I go along with this, how far will it go? Will I have to  _ kiss  _ Agatha in front of the whole school? In front of  _ Baz _ ? 

“I suppose we could go for authenticity,” Baz says, voice measured and overly calm. He isn’t happy about this plan, at least. “Use something Snow and Wellbelove actually said to each other.” 

“One time, I told Agatha she looked like a pretty little kitten,” I say, a split second before I realize what a moronic sentence it is. Penny makes a spluttering noice like a car engine, then laughs so hard she actually slides to the floor. Baz raises both of his eyebrows so high, they look like they’re trying to merge with his hairline. Agatha hides her face in her hands. I wish I could remember that spell that lets me sink through the bed, but knowing me I’d create some kind of unstoppable Magickal sinkhole. 

“ _ What? _ ” Penny asks, when she finally manages to stop laughing.

“It’s…something I said to her,” I say. 

“Something romantic?” Baz asks. 

“Well, yeah.” 

“Good luck, Baz,” Penny snorts. Baz rolls his eyes, but the sides of his mouth are curving up just a bit. I can’t tell whether it’s because he’s laughing at me, or because he’s fond of me. I guess they’re both better than breaking up with me on the spot. 

“Why don’t we use a quote?” Agatha asks. “I don’t have the time or the energy to sit here and think about every romantic thing Simon ever said to me. Let’s just use a quote.” 

“That could work,” Penny says thoughtfully. “A really, really obscure quote, so no one knows what it’s from.” 

“I don’t know any quotes,” I say. “At least, I don’t know any quotes that aren’t spells.” 

“I can recite the Bible in Latin,” Baz says, “and I have a pretty firm grasp of Beowulf.” 

“You’re both useless,” Penny says, turning away from us to face Agatha. “What were you thinking, Agatha?” 

“Maybe ‘I just like to see you happy’ for me.” 

“It’s definitely slow-witted enough," Baz says, and I kick him in the shin. I know for a fact that he’d almost smile if I said that to him. 

“And ‘I care’ for Simon’s.” 

“I think it’s brilliant,” Penny says, and I swear to Merlin that Agatha actually blushes. Baz looks over at me with both eyebrows raised, possibly for the first time. “What are you quoting?” 

“Gilmore Girls,” Agatha mutters, staring at Baz’s bedspread like she’s trying to set it on fire. “It’s just a dumb show.” 

“No,” Penny says, “No, I love that show.” Then she and Agatha stare at each other for an uncomfortably long period of time. Baz’s eyebrows creep down his forehead until they’re furrowed instead of raised. I stuff another scone into my mouth so I’m not just staring at them with my jaw hanging. 

“I thought you couldn’t change a soulmark,” I say eventually. 

“You can’t,” Penny says, finally looking away from Agatha. 

“Then why did Agatha have to come up with those Gilly Girls quotes?” 

“Gilmore Girls,” Agatha corrects me. I think she’s been spending too much time around Penny. “But for once, I think Simon’s right. Even you can’t change a soulmark, Penelope.” 

“We aren’t going to change a soulmark,” Baz says, sounding vaguely miffed. He hates it when people say that Penny’s a better Mage than him. “We’re going to cover it up, and make a new one in a different location.” 

“So that’s what those Josh Turner lyrics are for,” Agatha says. 

“Yes,” Baz says, thankfully skipping over the fact that Agatha can recognize the song on sight. I’ve never even heard of Josh Turner. “Specifically the line We've got a special bond/That’ll never break/‘Cause darling you and I are/Soulmates.” 

“Trust you not to sing it,” Penny says, rolling her eyes. “Have a little fun, Basil.” 

“Will we have to cast it on each other?” I ask. Usually, spells that use the word ‘you’ can’t be cast by a third party. I know that because I’ve avoided using them my entire life, just in case I hurt someone. 

“Don’t worry about it, Snow,” Baz says. “Even you can’t fuck this one up too badly.” 

“You’re not the one who he’ll be casting it on,” Agatha says, tucking her legs up under her. She really does look like a pretty little kitten. “No offense, Simon, but the last time you tried to cast a spell on someone it didn’t work.” 

“It was the spell, not him,” Baz snaps. I’m still not used to Baz defending me. 

“Alright,” Agatha says, sounding surprised. She obviously wasn’t expecting Baz to come to my aid either. 

“You’ll be fine, Simon,” Penny says impatiently. “The only problem is Agatha’s soulmark. We don’t know if or when it’ll come in, and no one has two soul marks.” 

“I don’t know if I’ll get one,” Agatha mumbles, tucking her chin into her crossed arms. 

“Asexual people often do,” Penny says. “Statistically, about half.” 

“What does that have to do with Agatha?” I ask. 

“Oh Merlin,” Penny says, eyes going wide. “Agatha, I’m so—”

“It’s alright,” Agatha says, not raising her head. “I’m asexual, Simon.” 

“Oh,” I say. Then, “ _ oh _ .” So that’s why we went past kissing a bit, and why she always moved my hands when they got too close to her front. I thought it was because of me. It’s honestly a bit of a relief. “Good for you, Agatha! You should have to…I mean, you should be able to…”

“Thanks, I guess,” Agatha says. 

“Now I know how it would have gone if I’d told him I’m gay,” Baz says, lacing his hands together across the knee of his crossed leg. It’s hard to tell, but I think Agatha cracks a smile. “Honestly, I’m feeling a bit as though I missed an opportunity.” 

“You’re gay?” I ask. Baz bursts out laughing, and Agatha, Penny, and I all stare at him. I think this is the first time I’ve heard him actually laugh. It’s deep and happy, and hearing it makes me feel like I’ve just eaten a warm scone. 

“You’re a complete moron, Snow,” he says, standing up. “I think we’ve done all we can today. We’ll reconvene tomorrow morning so we can work out what we’re going to do at breakfast.” 

“Can’t we do that tonight?” Agatha asks with a sigh. 

Baz shoots a look and me, and a shake my head. I don’t want to have to say that my memory still isn’t what it used to be. I can’t remember things that happened at night the next morning. Baz had to talk me through this morning’s scenario three times this morning. He says my memory will be all the way back soon, but I’m not sure. 

“We all have homework,” Baz says. “And I want a couple of minutes of peace and quiet in my own room. Besides, I’m starting to get…hungry.” 

Penny raises her eyebrows, unimpressed, but Agatha jumps off Baz’s bed like it’s burned her. 

“Come on, Penny,” she says. “Let’s go down to the library. Maybe we can a find a CD with  _ Soulmate _ , do some research.” 

I can see Penny wants to argue, but I know that her love of the library is even stronger than her love of research. 

“Okay,” she says reluctantly. “Simon, call me if you need anything.”

“Okay,” I say, even though I don’t have a phone and I don’t know her number. “Have fun in the library.” 

“I will!” She says. “Let’s go, Agatha.” Agatha smiles at me, barely nods her head towards Baz, and lets Penny grab her arm and pull her into the hallway. 

“Thanks, Baz,” I say as Agatha pulls the door closed behind them. 

“I expect you to make it up to me,” Baz says, but he winks at me. 

“Oh, I have some ideas,” I say. I’m not sure if I remember how to flirt, but this seems like a good start.

“I look forward to seeing them,” Baz says, stopping on his way across the room to push my hair back and give me a kiss on the forehead. My entire body warms like I’ve been thrown into a hot bath. “I’ll be back from the catacombs in about in hour. Save any homework you don’t understand, and I’ll help you out.” 

He’s gone before I recover from the kiss. I try not to think about how this is the first time I’ve been alone for more than a few minutes since I got my memory back. I hope the Mage doesn’t come in while Baz’s gone, and threaten to kill him again. I hope I can do  _ any  _ of my homework, so Baz doesn’t think I’m a complete moron. 

Oh well. That ship sailed long ago. 

I pull my notebook out of my messenger bag and start trying to read my own handwriting. Baz will be back in an hour. I can wait that long. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!! If you've stuck with me from the beginning (or somewhere near there) I'm so glad you're still reading this fic. If you're new, welcome! I've been writing this fic for almost a year now, and you keep me motivated to keep going. 
> 
> If you feel moved to leave a kudos or comment, I would appreciate it so very much. Every comment and kudos makes my day! You can also chat with me on Tumblr @ thenoteworthyhelen if you'd like. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading, and I hope you have a wonderful New Year if I don't post again before then.


	12. Lots of Things Have Happened in the Catacombs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz isn't a common thief. He didn't steal Bunce's phone, he just...borrowed it. To call his aunt. Crowley, he's missed her. 
> 
> Simon is in their room, alone, and he doesn't quite know what to do with himself. However when he notices that Baz left his wand on his bed, he's down in the catacombs almost before he has time to think about what he's doing. And while he's wandering around, looking for Baz, he remembers another time they were in the catacombs together...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone!! 
> 
> Today marks the one year anniversary of the day I uploaded the first chapter of this story. What started out as a fun little project has expanded into a 30k+ word story of which I’m incredibly proud. Just to give a little backstory (which no one asked for) about this work: I thought of it when I was staying in a hotel while attending a clinic for several chronic illnesses. It was a nice distraction from all the IVs and treatments, and when I got back home this story distracted me during a literal weeklong migraine. However, I’m almost certain that it wouldn’t have gotten anywhere near where it is without you. 
> 
> Every single comment and kudos inspires me to write more, even if I haven’t updated in months. All of you readers kept me going on this story for an entire year at this point. Thank you so much. The inspiration and happiness you’ve given me cannot be understated. 
> 
> And, of course, a very special thank you to my AMAZING beta reader DearLazerBunny, who has been my companion in writing and chronic illness for the last few months and without whom the last few chapters DEFINITELY wouldn’t exist. Also, thank you to everyone who’s been with me from the beginning. It’s been a long haul, and I love you all so much. 
> 
> Anyway, I’m just feeling a bit sentimental on the year anniversary. Thank you all so much, and I hope you enjoy this fluffy hurt/comfort chapter, as an anniversary present.

**BAZ**

“Who is it?” Fiona asks. No hello, just down to business. She really would make the worst diplomat. 

Lucky that the Families have me. 

“It’s me, Aunt Fiona.” 

“Basilton!” Fiona says, her voice instantly shifting from slightly irritated to very irritated. I let myself smile, because she can’t see me. I’ve missed her. “What’s all this about the Mageling getting his memory back?” 

“It’s true.” 

“Basil, I thought you’d sorted him. You told me it was permanent.” 

“Well, it wasn’t. I’m not going to cry about it.” Unfortunately, I did tell her it was permanent. She wasn’t answering her phone (the technology ban doesn’t stretch beyond Watford, thank fuck. I’m sure the Mage is drafting the new laws right now) so I wrote her a very slightly coded letter in the dead of night, after Bunce and I had spent five increasingly frustrating hours trying to undo the memory spell (my memory spell). I wanted someone to be happy about Snow’s downfall, even if it couldn’t be me. 

“How could he undo your spell?” Fiona asks. In the background, I hear the crinkle of plastic bags and the squeak of styrofoam. Probably Chinese, Fiona’s never been big on Curry. “I thought I’d taught you better than that.” 

“It was Agatha Wellbelove,” I say, gritting my teeth. “She used TLK.” 

“TLK? Seriously?” The background noise stops, and I can picture her eyebrows climbing up her forehead. “I didn’t think she had that kind of power in her. Are you sure?” 

“Snow slipped up. He was even more idiotic than usual, just after the spell was broken. He told me everything.”

“You know you could get her on trial for that.” 

“She did it to save the Mage’s Heir, and they both survived. I don’t think you could find a jury who wouldn’t acquit her.” 

“I could,” Fiona says darkly. 

“Where have you been?” This conversation is beginning to get dangerous. I don’t really want to hurt Wellbelove. “I tried to call you a few weeks ago. Your cell was off.” 

“Where I was is none of your business.” The background noise resumes, and I let out a breath. “Besides, I didn’t get a single call from the Watford number. Did you finally steal the Mage’s phone?” 

“I’m not a common thief, Fiona.” The truth is, I did pickpocket Bunce when she was leaving our room. I’ll have it back in her bag before she notices it’s gone. 

“More’s the pity. You’ve got too much Grimm in you, Basil. You need to expand your horizons.” If only she knew how much my horizons have recently been expanded. “I give you such fucking good advice,” she continues through a mouthful of food. “If you’d just follow in your Auntie’s footsteps, you’d turn out ok.” 

“Well, tell me where you’ve been if you’re such a paragon,” I say, leaning back against the catacomb wall. It’s surprising how good the reception is down here. I guess something has to come out of being trapped in the dark. 

“I’ve had a promotion,” she says. She’s trying to be enigmatic. It’s not working. 

“You’re unemployed.”

“Not anymore. Your father finally did something right. He’s made me a vampire hunter, third class.” 

I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, vampires did kill her sister. My mother. And I know that they’re—we’re—a threat to the magickal community. But still. 

“Congratulations.” I sink down to the dirt floor (I shouldn’t have worn my nice pants today.) (I hate that I wanted to look good for Snow.) ”When should I expect you to storm Watford?”

“What are you talking about?” She sounds genuinely baffled. Even Snow would have caught on by now. 

“You’re a vampire hunter,” I say. “You know the location of a vampire. Isn’t it your job?” 

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” Fiona says. “There aren’t any vampires at Watford. Especially not my bloody nephew. Do you really think I’d turn you in? For what, a fucking vampire hunting medal? As long as the other hunters trust me, I can make sure that they never catch on. I’m considering driving to Watford just to beat your arse for thinking otherwise.” 

“Who’s overreacting now?” I ask, but I do feel a bit better. 

“Shut up,” she says. “And let me eat my dinner. I haven’t gotten a moment’s peace since you were born. Trouble, that’s what you are.” 

“Yes, and you’re the picture innocence.” She scoffs.

“Listen here, Basilton—”

“Fiona, be quiet. There’s someone else down here.” 

“Sure it’s not a rat?” 

“Yes, I’m sure it’s not a rat. Put a sock in it.”

“Don’t you talk to me—” 

I hold the phone away from my ear, and listen to the footsteps coming closer along the tunnel just ahead of me. I don’t have my wand with me, and I’m not sure how I’ll explain being in the catacombs with an illegal iPhone. Worst case, I have blood on my lips. Logically, I know I haven’t spilt blood since I was fourteen, but there are always exceptions to a rule. 

Should I run? Should I make up some kind of story about visiting my mother’s grave? Anyone who knows the catacombs would know I was lying, I’m about as far away from her grave as I can be and still be in the catacombs. I could say that I’ve just wandered down here and gotten lost, I don’t have to worry about Snow—and, by extension, Bunce—ratting me out (ha) anymore. But if I use that excuse, I can never use it again. 

Then the person gets closer, and I hear that ragged breathing and the awkward gait. No one else breathes through their mouth like that. No one else bangs into walls on every other step, like an elephant shuffling through the Underground. No one else walks like they’re holding a sword, or like they know exactly where they’re going in the catacombs. 

“It’s just Snow,” I tell Fiona, cutting her off mid-rant. 

“Oh,” she says, and I can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “Here you had me thinking it was someone important. Can I stay on while you curse him? I have a few new ones for ya. Those vampire hunters fight dirty.” 

“Oh, is that why you joined? And no, you can’t stay on the line. I don’t like to leave witnesses.”

“That’s my boy.”

If she knew why I really don’t want a witness, how upset with me would she be? I can just picture her calling up her new vampire-hunting friends and siccing them on her “newly-turned and very dangerous” nephew. Of course, I know that’s probably the least realistic scenario. Most of her hate is tied up in the Mage, and if Snow were to turn on him (I know he won’t, but what else am I going to fantasize about anymore?) she’d probably swing around and say that she’d always supported the Chosen One. Besides, I don’t think she’d do anything to hurt him if she knew that we were soulmates. Even Fiona wouldn’t break that bond. She likes me too much. 

“Goodbye, Aunt Fiona.”

“Give him hell for me, Basil.” 

And she’s gone. 

“Baz?” Snow calls. It sends a little thrill through me, every time he knows my name.

“What the fuck are you doing down here?” Not that I’d ever tell him.

“Oh,” he says, coming around the corner. His hair is even messier than usual, I can see three separate smears of dirt across his nose. He’s holding his sword loosely in his left hand, and my wand in his right. “There you are.” 

“Why do you have my wand?”

“Oh, yeah, this!” He holds up my wand like he’s never seen it before. I swallow my panic. Plenty of people forget that they’re holding things. “You left it in our room. I thought you might need it.” 

“So you came blundering into the catacombs, without your idiotic string. How were you expecting to find your way out?”

“I was coming to find you,” he says, twisting his hand. His sword dissolves into midair, and he holds my wand out to me. “I knew you’d get me back.” 

“Three months ago, I would’ve left you to rot.” I take my wand from him, and our fingers brush for just a beat too long. The same rush I feel just after I’ve drained a rat sweeps over me. Intoxicating. Addictive. 

“Maybe. You won’t now.” He leans up against me, and drapes an arm around my waist. How is he so comfortable with this? We’ve been together for two days, one on each side of a month-long curse I cast on him. And he’s acting like we’ve…well, lived together for years. 

“So, this is where it happened, yeah?” He asks, weaving his fingers through mine. I let my hand hang limp, but he doesn’t seem to notice. 

“A lot of things have happened in the Catacombs. Can you possibly be more specific?” 

“This,” he says, stroking my left wrist with his thumb. I tense a bit, as the now familiar burn fills my body. It’s the closest I’ll ever be to touching fire. “We were fifteen. I think it was somewhere around here.” 

It takes a moment. I’ve tried to shut that night out of my memory for so long. 

I’d been teetering on the brink of a realization for weeks. Something about the way Snow looked when he was asleep, mouth open and curls splayed across his pillow. Something about how his freckles were like a field of stars (I kept trying to convince myself that I just wanted to bite him). Something about the way that he failed every class, bungled every spell, didn’t make the football team, and was all around the worst fucking Chosen One in existence, but he just kept on trying. 

That night, he’d been exhausted. His muscles were straining (I could see his biceps under his school uniform, and I didn’t understand why my throat went dry) while he tried to keep his sword aloft and wrap up his pathetic ball of string at the same time. He didn’t even think to cast a Back to Start or Wrap it Up to wind it for him. He was tired, and he was distracted. I could have snapped his neck right then, drained his blood and left his body in the catacombs. Instead, I stepped out of my hiding place, gave him time to gather his (meager) wits and throw a few paltry comebacks at me before our customary battle started. 

I wasn’t prepared for him to hold the Sword of Mages to my throat. I suppose I thought he’d never use it against me, just because he never had. But Crowley. When I looked up the blade at him, almost completely at his mercy, it was like I’d never seen him before (cliché, I know) (I even knew it at the time. If I hadn’t been in the middle of a life-altering realization, I probably would have rolled my eyes). There he was, cheeks flushed and hair wild and panting like he’d just finished a mile long sprint.

“What are you doing?” He said again, almost desperate and so very tired. 

I looked into his eyes, something I usually avoided at all costs (Fiona used to say that you should never give your enemy the satisfaction of treating them like an equal). For the first time, instead of seeing the Mage’s heir, my born enemy, the savior no-one wanted, I just saw a boy. An attractive boy. A noble, selfless, stupid, infuriating, brave boy. A boy who’d been handed a fate he never asked for, come into a world where equal numbers of people hated and worshipped him, and couldn’t live up to what was he was expected to do. 

A boy like me. 

That’s when I finally toppled over the edge and realized that I could never kill him. I didn’t even want to kill him, and maybe I never had. 

That was the first moment that looked at my worst enemy, holding a sword to my throat, and I saw someone I loved. 

I’d never been so scared in my life. 

“It was five tunnels over. You have a horrible sense of direction, Snow.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees happily. I can see him smiling. I wonder if he can see me. If he can, I wonder what he’s seeing. “Take me there, Baz?” 

**SIMON**

Yeah, I probably should have had more of a plan. I kept telling myself I’d think of something, but by the time I reached the catacombs all I’d come up with was find Baz, return wand, maybe snog. But as anyone who’s met me knows, planning has never been my strong suit and Penny is at least 98% of my impulse control. 

Plus, even the catacombs are better than being alone in our room. I’ve been alone for so long, trapped in my own head, not able to remember anyone else and barely knowing myself. I’d rather be doing something (anything, even homework with Penny or sitting in awkward silence with Agatha) than sitting there trying to do homework without anyone around. 

Before I was cursed, before Baz, I’d probably be on my way to see the Mage. I haven’t seen him since I got my memory back, and I’d guess that he’s starting to get suspicious. I might even be going up to Ebb’s, but she goes to bed with her goats (sometimes she literally sleeps in the straw with them). I’ll try to get up there tomorrow, if I remember. 

I hope I can remember. 

Either way, I didn’t want to have to lie tonight. I didn’t want to force myself on Penny and Agatha, because I think they’re doing homework together or something and Agatha probably doesn’t want to see me right now. So it was obvious who I should be with. 

Like I wasn’t just making excuses to see him. 

“How do you know your way around here so well?”

Baz snorts. “I don’t know, Snow. Maybe I spent every night for a year playing hide-and-go-seek in the tunnels with my roommate? Maybe I slept down here for over a month? The mystery may remain forever unsolved.” 

“I’d say it was more cat-and-mouse than hide-and-go-seek.” 

“Maybe so. However, that begs the question, who was the mouse?” 

“You don’t have to be so pretentious all the time,” I say, holding onto his arm and letting him lead me through the tunnels. I’m not sure why I trust him so implicitly all of a sudden. Maybe I always did. My relationship with Baz has been the most constant thing in my life for the last seven years. Why shouldn’t it be now? 

“I’m not pretentious. You’re just uncultured.” 

Something Baz said is bothering me. Not him calling me uncultured, not him implying that I’m a mouse. That’s pretty tame for Baz, even after we started making out. It was earlier, when we were talking about him knowing his way around the tunnels. I know I can remember. I need to be able to remember. 

“Did you say you slept down here for a month?”

Thank Christ, I remembered. 

Wait a minute. 

He slept down here for a month?

**BAZ**

Snow stops dead, pulling several muscles in my left shoulder as he drags me backward. 

“What in Crowley’s name are you doing, Snow?” 

“A month? Baz, you slept down here for a month?” 

“As I told you two seconds ago, yes, I did.” I try not to let my irritation (or my fear) show in my voice. Is he more forgetful than he was before I spelled him, or is that a lingering symptom?

“A month.” 

“Yes, Snow, a month. What are you on about?” 

**SIMON**

He honestly doesn’t seem to see a problem with the fact that he slept in these dark, musty, rat-infested tunnels for an entire month. Is that a vampire thing, sleeping in tunnels? I always thought it was caskets, or castles. 

“I don’t remember that,” I say, taking a step towards him. He doesn’t back away, At least that’s good. 

“You wouldn’t.” 

“I mean, you were always in our room. Even when we spent the rest of the night in the catacombs. How did I not notice?” 

He rolls his eyes. “Use your head, Simon. How would you have reacted, coming back to your room at night and finding a stranger in the other bed?” 

A stranger? Baz has never been a stranger. We met before our first night in our room. 

Wait. 

Oh, no. Oh, god. 

**BAZ**

A tear slips out of the corner of Simon’s eye. It shines like the stone on Bunce’s ostentatious ring as it falls down his cheek. 

I always liked making him cry. 

“What’s wrong?” I make an effort to snap, but I’m sure I sound like a sop. Damn it, Snow, we both know that I love you. Stop making me show it. 

“I made you sleep down here. For a month. With the rats, and the skeletons, and all that.”

“You didn’t make me do anything. I assessed the situation and chose the option that made the most sense.”

“No, it happened because of me. This whole thing was my idea, and I’m the one who forgot you. You shouldn’t have been thrown out of your room. I could have slept with Penny, or something.” 

“Alister Crowley, Snow. This wasn’t your fault! I cast the spell, and however bad it was sleeping down here—” I cried myself to sleep every night, I slept on my own mother’s grave, the rats bit me while I slept as some form of retribution. I was miserable. “—you had amnesia, and sleeping with Bunce would have interrupted whatever sense of normality you’d retained. Besides, the Mage never would have allowed it.” 

“Yeah, well, I had amnesia.” 

“I thought we’d established that.” 

“I wouldn’t have remembered! Penny had to lead me to my room every night anyway, she could’ve just taken me to hers. No one would have known except Penny, especially not me.” Snow’s almost shouting at this point, but my voice is still level. We’ve fallen back into our old, predictable pattern. It’s almost soothing. 

“You needed to be in familiar territory. Besides, Bunce has two roommates who aren’t nearly as oblivious as you."

“Nothing was familiar territory. I ran into your bed fifteen times a day, and I kept knocking all your fancy products off the shelves.” 

“I did what had to be done.” 

“You didn’t have to do it!” 

“Try to get this through your thick head, Simon: I didn’t sleep down here for the thrill of it. I didn’t miss my classes and give up my top student ranking to Penelope Bunce because I wanted to. You weren’t in your right mind, and it was because of me. So, for once, I did the right thing. It won’t happen again.” 

“You didn’t need to punish yourself, you stupid git!” Snow’s up in my face now, shoving me backwards against a wall. 

“Believe me, seeing your face was punishment enough.” It had been. His unremarkable blue eyes, staring straight through me. His too-thick eyebrows knotted up in a permanent state of confusion. His mouth always open, reminding me of what it had felt like beneath mine. 

Snow’s chest is heaving, head pressed against my collarbone. The one time I’m not actively trying to make him regret his existence, and he’s crying. I awkwardly pat him on the back a few times, but that just makes it worse. I hope he doesn’t ruin another one of my shirts. 

“Do you think we’ll ever be able to stop fighting?” He asks, and that’s when I realize that he’s not actually crying. 

I suppose I can be excused. I’m not sure if I’ve ever heard him laugh before, especially for this long. Especially around me. 

“I doubt it,” I say, putting my arms around his back because I can’t think of anywhere else to put them. Why do we seem to end up in this position so often over the last two days? 

“Me too,” he says, raising his head and wiping a tear from his cheek. He’s smiling, though, so I take that as a good sign. “So this is where it happened?” 

“About five feet to your right.” I’m not all that surprised that the conversation has changed so quickly. Snow never has been able to keep on track. 

**SIMON**

“Here?” I ask. I have no idea how Baz is able to distinguish this patch of wall from every other patch of wall in the entirety of the catacombs. He’s even smarter than he lets on, the utter git. 

“Yes.” Even in that one word, he seems nervous. I suppose that revisiting the spot you realized you were in love with your worst enemy could be painful. 

I can’t relate. 

“You were scared, weren’t you?” 

“Yes.” He’s looking away from me, down the long shadowy tunnel. I wonder how much he can see (vampires have better sight, right? I think I tried to razz Baz once by having Penny spell all of his textbooks with about five Minimizes, but he didn’t seem to have any trouble reading them). All I can see is him, his ridiculously pale skin almost shining in the dark. I mean, it makes sense. When he’s in the room, he’s always the only person I see. 

“You don’t have to be scared now.” 

He finally looks away from the tunnel and towards me. His eyes are hooded with shadows, and I can’t really get a read on him, but when have I ever gotten a read on him before? 

“How can you not hate me?” He asks quietly. “I’ve tried to kill you.” 

“I’d say we’re fairly even in that field.” 

“I wiped your memory.” 

“And then you gave it back.” 

“I’d understand if you wanted to drop me for Agatha.” He’s looking past me again, and it makes me angry. He was never afraid of eye contact before. It was one of his favorite ways to intimate me. So why is he allergic to it now? “Objectively, she’s quite pretty, and fairly smart. You’d make a good match. All very Mage-approved.” 

“I don’t care what the Mage thinks.” I put my hand on Baz’s cheek and force his head down so that he has no choice but to look at me. “And I’m not dropping you for Agatha, you nutter.”

“People have broken the soulmate bond before.” 

“Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, If we weren’t soulmates, I’d carve off my mark for you. I will always chose you. So why don’t you stop second-guessing yourself and accept that?” 

For possibly the first time in my life, I get to see Baz look surprised. It’s even more gratifying that I thought it would be. 

“Don’t ever call me Tyrannus again,” is all he says. 

“You’re quite welcome to shut me up.” 

I really think I’m getting better at this whole flirting thing. 

**BAZ**

I’m kissing Simon Snow. 

His lips are warm, and his hands are all over my back, and if vampires went to heaven I know this is what mine would be. 

**SIMON**

I haven’t kissed Baz since I got my memory back. It’s just as nice as I remembered. 

**BAZ**

We’re within three of inches of the spot where I threw him against the wall when I was fifteen years old, as a last desperate attempt to enjoy hurting him. To make him go away. To make all those feelings that had just burst into my consciousness go away. 

Now, I turn his back to the wall and press up against him, and he presses right back. We know exactly what each others’ bodies feel like, after all those years of throwing punches and pushing each other in the hallways. Each movement is familiar and new at the same time. Simon and I are in the kind of perfect synch I’ve only ever felt with my violin. 

**SIMON**

Yeah. This is really nice. I’m kinda having a hard time breathing, though. 

**BAZ**

It’s just hit me again. His hair, his cheeks, his moles. The way he bears the destiny weighing him down, how he falls and gets right back up. 

Fuck off, Snow. I still can’t believe you made me love you. 

**SIMON**

I run my thumb over Baz’s left wrist, slipping it under his wristband the best I can, pretending I can feel the outline of my soul words. 

I think someone is about to say them now, yeah?

Baz. I never thought I could love anyone as much as I love you. 

And if we’re going to be snogging like this as often as I’d like, maybe I should finally learn to breathe through my nose. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this!! Comments and kudos absolutely make my day, and if you've ever left a comment or plan on leaving a comment please know that you've automatically made my day. Love you all, stay safe! 💙💙

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know if you liked this...I'm really lacking in motivation and any you have to spare would be so, so appreciated. Comments and kudos are the foods that fuel my life.


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